HTLJ: Sins of the Father
by Arianna18
Summary: After believing him dead for years, Iolaus encounters his father to find that nothing has changed between them


story Consultant: Elspeth

Note: I want to thank Elspeth for the original ideas for this story and all of her suggestions as it unfolded. It's really hers…I just wrote it down. And, I must thank Keesha, for allowing me to draw on her wonderful story, 'And Yet He Still Loved Him', for the details of what happened during Iolaus' childhood. I've also drawn upon my own story, 'Lost…and Found', for some of the history of why Iolaus took to the streets. In terms of the chronology of my stories and the series, this one occurs after 'No Matter What', which is also referred to briefly when Hercules refuses to allow Iolaus to leave Alcmene's house alone, and before Iolaus had met Anya and had become a father in his own right.

Iolaus was having too good a time to call it a night. He'd come out to the tavern for a while to give his buddy time to visit with his mother without 'good old Iolaus' hanging around, but his initial, habitual, sense of having been a bit in the way had long been chased off by the ardent attention of three, count 'em, three lovely young ladies who'd come to the tavern, having heard he was in town. Not to mention, the two pretty and very flirtatious barmaids who lingered around their table in the corner whenever business slowed down a bit. Laughing, the young man regaled them with fabulous tales of daring-do, appreciating their very evident admiration, and flirted outrageously with all of them. It wouldn't have been gentlemanly to play favourites when they were all so charmingly attentive.

Consequently, he didn't notice the weathered and well-seasoned warriors who had entered later in the evening, moving to the bar to order ale to chase the dust of the trail from their throats. Leaning back against the bar, relaxing as they surveyed the smoky, comfortable tavern, several couldn't help but notice that one guy seemed to have an unfair allotment of the pretty women in the room. Poking one another in the ribs to nod at this display of riches, the younger warriors drew the attention of their general, who gazed a little wearily at the source of their amusement and jealousy. Young bucks…they were all the same. Show them a skirt and they forgot everything else.

But, the older man stiffened when he spotted the blond curls, heard the riotous laughter, and he frowned at the ridiculous display of so many young women hanging on the runt's every word. It was foolishness, and the kid should know better than to so obviously believe the women honestly admired him. They were having him on, laughing at him, not with him. Gods, it was incredible to think even he could be so self-deceptive as to believe women would find him that desirable. He was making a spectacle of himself.

Hearing his own men speculate about how the little squirt could get so many women interested in him, hearing their laughing jibes about the ragged vest and unkempt, unprepossessing appearance, the General felt the old, almost forgotten, rage stir in his soul. It was humiliating…unbearable. Silently setting his own mug aside, he moved away from the bar, making a determined way through the crowd and the scattered tables to the back of the tavern.

"You've had enough…go home," he rumbled out the order, looming over the table, just to the side and slightly behind its centre of attention.

Iolaus froze at the sound of that voice, scarcely able to believe his ears weren't playing games with him. How many years…? Shifting his chair a little, aware that the girls had dropped into an uneasy silence as they looked up at the imposing warrior who had just spoken to Iolaus as if he was nothing but a kid, not the hero they knew him to be, Iolaus turned to look up at the middle-aged soldier glowering down at him.

Iolaus' face lost all expression for a moment, shocked beyond words, by the apparition beside him. "I'd heard you were dead," he finally said, his throat tight, his eyes wary.

"Yeah, well, the rumours of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. Takes more than a couple of arrows to stop me," the older man replied dryly, as he took in the fact that Iolaus was wearing his medallion. Reaching for it, he said, "Looks like you have something that belongs to me."

Pulling back from his reach, shoving his father's hand away, Iolaus shook his head, unwilling to give his father anything, even that which had belonged to him once, "Not anymore, it doesn't. What are you doing here?"

His gaze shifting to the young women at the table, giving them a charming half smile, Skouros replied, "I thought I'd check up on the old homestead since we were passing this way anyway." His eyes hardening and the charm disappearing as he turned his gaze back down to his son, he continued scathingly, "Looks like some things haven't changed. You're still a disgrace."

The women gasped at the rude hostility. Iolaus looked away from his father's cold gaze, and took a deep breath, not wanting a confrontation. "Look, whatever was between us ended a long time ago. Why don't you just go back to your friends and leave me with mine," he said as calmly and reasonably as he could, turning back to the young women, giving them a reassuring grin as he picked up his mug of ale.

Enraged by having Iolaus turn his back on him, discount him, Skouros clipped the back of his son's head as he growled, "Don't you ignore me, boy."

Jolted by the blow, ale spilling from his mug, the old rage rising in his heart, Iolaus lunged back, his chair crashing to the ground as he stood to confront his father. Silence fell across the tavern, as all turned to look, wondering what was the trouble, but both men were oblivious to the stares of the others. "Back off, old man," Iolaus warned, his eyes blazing. "I'm not your 'boy', not anymore."

"'Old man'?" Skouros snarled, outraged. Without conscious thought, he grabbed Iolaus by the throat and backhanded him viciously, snapping his head to the side. "It's beyond time you learned a little respect!"

Something snapped then in Iolaus as a red rage descended upon him, bringing back all the old anger and sense of violation. He twisted and slammed a strong blow up and back against his father's arm, breaking the man's grip on him, then spun and put all his strength into a two-handed punch to his father's jaw, making him stagger back, sending others diving for cover as he crashed into their table.

Skouros' men didn't take kindly to their leader being assaulted by a scruffy, little shrimp and decided it was time for them to get into the action. His concentration on his father, breathing heavily, Iolaus watched Skouros stagger to his feet, saw the well-remembered hate in those cold blue eyes and was sickened by it. The hate mingled with unbounded fury as Skouros raged against the fact that this runt had just sent him crashing to the ground. All sense of time and place disappeared, and all the older man knew was that he was going to beat this whelp into the ground for his disrespect.

Launching himself forward, his fists balled and the muscles of his arms aching to break every bone in Iolaus' body, Skouros was fired with the insane strength of the truly mad. His son watched him come, and readied himself, not noticing the other soldiers until two had grabbed his arms from behind, pinning him tightly between them just as his father came at him. Caught by surprise, and unable to defend himself, Iolaus could only brace for the attack. Skouros drove hard fists into his gut and side, viciously ripped the medallion from around his neck, the force cutting into the skin around his neck, and then hit him with an vicious uppercut when his head came down in reaction to the body blows that had carried the force of a sledge-hammer.

Iolaus was dazed by the no-holds-barred attack, but he was far from finished. Ignoring the blinding pain of the assault, he kicked out at his father, driving him back, then continued his upward roll and broke the grip of the men holding him, dropping down behind them and slamming their heads together, hard. They went down, but two others came at him, only too ready to teach him a lesson. Nobody assaulted their commander, or their comrades, and got away with it. Ready for them, no longer caught by surprise, Iolaus spun in a tight circle, his foot coming up to kick their chins, one after the other, dropping them to the dirty tavern floor.

By that point, everyone in that end of the tavern had scrambled away, not sure what was going on, or what the fight was about, but not wanting any part of it. The older ones remembered Skouros and all had heard enough to know this was some kind of family affair. Skouros stood tall, arrogant in his contempt, as he roared, "Still fighting dirty, eh? Never learned to fight like a real man, did you, boy? You're a disgrace… I'm ashamed of you, always was."

The old words, cutting through the shell he'd created around his heart to lock them away, to try to forget the contempt, the despair he felt at his father's very evident loathing of him, carried more force to wound than the physical blows. Panting, his face pale and haggard, mortified to be treated like this by his own father in front of his friends, Iolaus blinked to chase away the sudden, unwanted tears that were almost instinctive, born of remembered anguish and hopelessness.

"And, still a crybaby, too, I see," Skouros scorned, sneering at him. "You shouldn't be let out in polite company. Go on, get out of here, runt. You don't belong around decent people."

Iolaus' head came back up and his eyes skittered around the tavern, finally conscious of the dreadful silence. No one would make eye contact with him, all looking away, disgusted by Skouros' behaviour, embarrassed for Iolaus, not by him or his behaviour. But, Iolaus didn't know that. He thought they were condemning him, accepting his father's words, and no longer wanted to acknowledge they even knew him. Tense, hurt, unable to bear the shame, he finally forced himself to walk through the crowded the tavern, no longer looking at anyone, just needing to get away. He tried to ignore his father's mocking laughter that shattered the unnatural and uncomfortable silence of the tavern, tried to keep his shoulders back and his head up as he walked away.

But, gods, it was hard.

Outside, he took great gulps of air, fighting his nausea and the pain that radiated from his damaged ribs, his impotent fury at his father, his sense of abandonment. Finally, slowly, he turned and headed out of town, back to Alcmene's house. He couldn't think of anywhere else to go. All the way home, his father's contempt rang in his ears, bringing it all back and merging the memories of his childhood with the sickening events of the evening. He shuddered with shame, wondering why he couldn't ever seem to win when it came to his father, why he always looked and felt like such an incompetent fool. Nothing that he told himself about how he'd earned the respect of others, turned his life around, that he had proven his worth time and time again could silence the nasty condemnations that echoed in his mind, and in his heart.

His steps lagged, and he held his aching side as he walked slowly through the night. His head pounded from the blows he had taken. He knew he'd be sporting dark bruises by morning…and he wondered if a couple of ribs might even be cracked. But, the physical pain was overshadowed by the heartache. Shaking his head, Iolaus wondered why his father hated him so much…had always hated him. He fought the tears and forcibly swallowed the massive lump of despair and self-condemnation in his throat. Gods, he'd looked like such a fool in the tavern…and it would be all over town the next morning.

'Iolaus' father is ashamed of him, hates him. Iolaus' father drove him off like a cur, or a good-for-nothing tramp.'

How could he ever face any of those people again? Gods, how could he face Alcmene and Hercules with his humiliation?

By the time he finally arrived at Alcmene's place, the cottage was dark, with only a single candle and the light of the dying fire in the hearth to show him his way through the cottage. She and Hercules had retired long before, and he was glad they weren't awake to witness his shame. Taking great care to be quiet, he made his way to the room he'd always shared with Hercules. In the dark, he pulled off his clothes and climbed under the sheet, hauling it up and around his shoulders, curling a little against the pain that still radiated from his father's brutal blows…hurting more from the shame in his heart.

Finally, a long time later, he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

When the casually tossed pillow hit his head the next morning, he woke startled and disoriented, striking out reflexively, only to hear Hercules laugh as he said, "Hey, easy hero! I'm not attacking you…but it's past time you got up. Gods, you must have been out late…how's your head?" Hercules snickered a little, imagining the good time Iolaus must have had the evening before.

Facing the wall, Iolaus laid still for a moment, gathering his thoughts, then he pushed himself up and rolled to sit on the side of his bed. The light streaming in the window beside him starkly illuminated the bruises on his face, bringing a frown to Hercules' face, then, all trace of humour gone. "What happened to you?" he asked, moving forward to turn Iolaus' face toward him, to better examine the injuries. One eye was a little swollen and black, and a cheek was darkly bruised from a nasty blow.

Pulling his head away in irritation, slapping Hercules' hand away, Iolaus muttered, "It's nothing…just a fight. Leave it alone."

But, when he stood and Hercules saw him wince a little, and then spotted the ugly, spreading bruises on his ribs, and the cord burn around the back of his neck, noticing for the first time the medallion was missing, the demigod took his arm. "Who did this?" he demanded, wondering what in Tartarus Iolaus had gotten himself into the night before. Iolaus never took the medallion off…who had taken it with such evidently brutal force?

Embarrassed, angry, Iolaus wasn't about to explain and resented his friend's persistence. What could he say? 'My father still hates me…always will. My own father beat me last night in front of everyone in the tavern.' Gods, the thought of it, admitting it, of seeing pity in Herc's eyes, made him feel physically ill. He felt trapped, and like any trapped animal, he fought back aggressively. Pulling away, giving Hercules a solid shove to push him back, he snapped harshly, "I told you to leave it alone, all right!"

Backing off, hands in the air, shocked by the rage he saw in Iolaus' eyes, heard in his voice, irritated in his own right given that he'd only been expressing concern over what looked like nasty injuries, the demigod replied sharply, "What in Tartarus is wrong with you? What happened?"

But, when Iolaus threw him another hostile look before turning away to pull on his clothes, Hercules' irritation faded. Something serious must have happened to make Iolaus react like this…and he only too obviously needed time to come to grips with whatever it was. To signal his willingness to give his buddy that time, trying to make light of it, he let his hands drop to his sides and backed away as he said in a placating tone, "Okay, okay! I should see the other guy, right?" Hercules had no doubt that Iolaus would have given as good as he got…better. The other guy probably needed a healer.

"Right," Iolaus muttered, not looking up as he pulled on his pants. But, his ribs hurt when he bent to put on his boots and he hissed a little unconsciously. Gods, his dad packed a powerful punch. Bitterly, he remembered his father's words…that 'some things' hadn't changed.

Worried, wondering what had happened the night before, Hercules moved toward the door. "Mother has breakfast waiting, when you're ready," he said quietly.

Iolaus swallowed and nodded. Without looking at his friend, he replied quietly, "I'll be out in a minute." Sitting there after the door had clicked shut, he thought about the look of startled hurt in Hercules' eyes when he'd lashed out at him for no apparent reason. But, gods, how did he begin to explain this? The father they'd all thought dead had returned, but not to celebrate a joyous family reunion. Oh no, Skouros wanted to hurt him as much or more as he ever had. How was he going to explain this to Hercules?

He pressed his eyes closed and pushed his hands through his hair. Gods, he'd have to explain it all…confess everything from long ago if Herc was ever going to understand what had happened. And, for the life of him, Iolaus couldn't imagine ever telling Hercules what his life had really been like. Oh, he knew Herc had guessed some of it…but no way did he even know the half of it.

Nor did Iolaus ever want him to know.

* * *

When he finally came out of the bedroom, having splashed water on his face to cool off, he was greeted by silence. 'Oh great,' he thought, as he ambled into the kitchen, trying to pretend everything was normal.

Hercules must have said something to his mother, because Alcmene made no mention of the bruises, simply poured a mug of juice and put a plate of cheese, bread, olives and cold rabbit in front of him. Sighing, he murmured, "Thanks," as he reached for the bread, chewing it on the unbruised side of his mouth.

Normal.

Right.

If things had been normal, Alcmene would have been fussing all over him.

Gods, why had his father had to come back? Why couldn't he just have been dead, like they'd all believed for so long? Not in the least bit hungry, absently, he played with the chunk of bread, breaking it into crumbs, keeping his eyes lowered, so that he wouldn't have to look at the others. Maybe, if he was lucky, Skouros would have just moved on this morning and he'd never have to see him again. After all, there was nothing in Thebes to hold him here.

Iolaus knew he'd have to eventually explain what had happened. There had been too many witnesses to his humiliation for Hercules and Alcmene not to hear about it, probably before the day was out. Wishing he could crawl into a hole, not participating in the too obviously stilted conversation between his friend and his mother, he only knew he couldn't talk about it yet. He'd explain later, when he'd had time to build back some of his shattered defences.

Later, when he could pretend it didn't matter, that he didn't care.

* * *

Given his preferences, Iolaus would have avoided Thebes like the plague for the rest of this visit home. But, no such luck. Alcmene wanted some things from the market for dinner, and she asked him and Hercules if they'd mind going into town to do the shopping while she did the baking. What could he say? So, off they went, and though he tried to keep up a normal level of chatter, his heart wasn't in it, and Hercules could tell. Mystified, worried, the demigod wondered what had happened to have left Iolaus so anxious and shaken. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his buddy like this…not since they'd been kids. His hands were even trembling a little.

All the way, Iolaus kept hoping his father would have left town, that they wouldn't run into anyone who'd say anything about what had happened. He knew he should tell Hercules, knew that someone or other would make some crack about the fight…but, he just couldn't find the words. The thought of it all just left him feeling weak and helpless…sick with self-loathing and humiliation. Whenever his mind drifted, his memory either replayed terrible, hurtful scenes from his childhood, memories of being beaten, yelled at, told he was worthless…scenes of lonely weeping, hidden away from other eyes, wishing his father would love him, wouldn't hate him…wondering why he was so bad that he didn't deserve to be loved…or scenes from last night in the tavern…people avoiding his eyes, his father's voice telling him he was a disgrace, an embarrassment.

Gods, why did this have to happen? Why, when he and Hercules were more likely to be somewhere else, and his father never expected to be back, did they have to be in town at the same time? As they got closer and closer to Thebes, his feet dragged and his voice faltered into silence. Hercules watched him, wanting to ask what was wrong, but remembering too clearly Iolaus' reaction that morning.

Best to just wait and let him explain in his own time…in his own way.

Iolaus' hopes that his father had moved on were destined to be shattered. Far from leaving, which had been the original plan since Skouros hadn't thought there'd be any reason to linger in Thebes, his father now had a mission. He was going to stay until he'd taught his son the lessons he'd failed to learn in his youth… respect, and how to act like a man. There'd be no more humiliating displays of tears, no more of that dirty street fighting nonsense. No, it was long past time that his son learned to be a man, as impossible as that feat might be for him. Skouros could not imagine leaving Thebes when he knew the son he despised was still there, bringing shame to his name.

When they got to town, Iolaus kept his head down and tried to get through the shopping as quickly as humanly possible. He was conscious of the fact that no one bantered with him, the way they usually did, though one or two made some reference to the night before, saying they had been appalled…but he always cut them off, afraid they were judging him, moving on before they could explain.

Hercules, his face reflecting his concern and confusion, held back to talk to one of their acquaintances, to learn more about what had happened. The man, relatively new in town, just shrugged, and said there'd been a bunch of soldiers who had attacked Iolaus without reason, one of them, older than the others, insulting him beyond belief. He told how Iolaus had fought back at first, but having overcome the younger soldiers had declined to knock the old guy senseless, even if he had deserved it, and had just left. The whole town respected his decision not be beat up the older guy, but everyone was equally appalled by the way the old man had spoken to Iolaus. Worse as far as everyone was concerned, the soldiers hadn't left, despite the fact that everyone tried to make sure they could tell they weren't welcome there any longer, so it was likely there'd be more trouble.

"Still here?" Hercules repeated, his eyes lifting to scan the crowded market square. "Where are they?"

But, the fruit seller just shrugged and turned away to serve another customer.

They'd almost finished the shopping, having separated at Iolaus' suggestion that they could get done faster if they both went about buying what was needed, giving a lame excuse that it would leave them more time to do a little fishing that afternoon, when shouts from across the market caught Hercules' attention.

"There he is, sir…the little runt from last night! You'd think he'd have had the decency to have left town for good!" rang a supercilious voice across the noise of the crowd.

Iolaus sighed and shook his head, cursing the Fates and Fortune. He really didn't need this right now. But, he also knew he couldn't avoid it. Turning, he saw his father and his cohort of warriors pushing through the crowd towards him. Hoping to at least stave off another violent confrontation, he raised his hands as he said, "Look, I really don't want to fight with you anymore. Can't we just…ignore one another and go our separate ways?"

Iolaus didn't realize Hercules had come up behind him, pausing in shock when he recognized the older man in the warrior's garb, with the insignia of a general on his shoulders…and the familiar medallion around his neck. Looking away from the warriors, down at Iolaus, he now understood, only too well, why his buddy hadn't wanted to talk about what had occurred the night before. Gods, it looked like Skouros was still as mean and violent as he had ever been. The demigod hoped, as much as Iolaus did, that Skouros would bow to reason and move off before more damage was done.

But, the soldiers just kept coming, their threatening demeanor causing others to back away warily. Silence fell over the square, as everyone waited, some tense, some a little excited, to see what would happen next. Most of the town had heard about the fight the night before and wanted to see Iolaus wipe the street with this arrogant fool who dared to debase him.

Skouros had no idea his son was a local hero, wouldn't have believed it had anyone tried to explain it to him. Indifferent to the behaviour of the townspeople, his sole concern was to teach his good-for-nothing son a lesson he'd never forget.

Ignoring Iolaus' plea for reason, hearing it as weakness, the older man kept coming until he was looming over his son, scowling darkly down at him, using his size to intimidate the boy, just as he'd always done.

"Well, I'd like to hope it was guts that brought you back here today, but I know better, don't I, boy? It was stupidity. You don't have the sense the gods give an ass, never did," he sneered.

Iolaus tried to back up a step, but he only banged into Hercules. Startled, he looked around, feeling a little trapped. When he saw his friend, also looming over him, his heart sank. Gods, just what he needed…Herc seeing this, hearing this. Shame burned through him, but it sounded like irritation when he growled at his friend, "Would you just back off and give me a little space here?"

Stung by Iolaus' tone, Hercules frowned slightly, and backed off, as requested, wondering why his friend was snarling at him rather than telling his father where to get off. Angry, the demigod's eyes came back and found Skouros glaring at him. "I'll be damned…Zeus' half-breed whelp. I should have known the runt would still be tagging around after you…well, it's about all he's good for, and shows he's got some sense I guess. You're big enough to protect his sorry butt," the general snarled sarcastically, his emphasis making it clear what he thought of their friendship, drawing a few horrified gasps from the listening crowd. They couldn't believe his temerity, his arrogance and witless stupidity in insulting both the Son of Zeus and his best friend.

They backed further away.

Iolaus turned back to face his father, his eyes flashing at the insult to Hercules. "That's enough!" he said, his voice hard, furious.

Without even blinking, Skouros backhanded him, hard enough to make him stagger, but Iolaus spun back, lashing out with a fist to his father's smirking face. Skouros stumbled back at the force of the blow, and the other soldiers moved in, intent upon avenging the insult to their leader. They didn't know what this kid had ever done to offend Skouros so badly, to have brought out such vicious hatred, but it must have been earned. The guy had to be scum.

Ready for them, Iolaus made short work of laying them out on the street, battered and stunned by the speed and efficiency of his attack. Hercules had hung back, instinctively knowing that Iolaus had to do this on his own, though he winced a little, remembering the bruises he'd seen that morning, at a couple of hard body blows Iolaus took before he prevailed over them.

Skouros had stood back, watching, appalled at his son's dirty techniques. Street fighting. Fancy tricky moves. All he was good for. When it was over, Iolaus stood over their unconscious bodies, breathing hard from emotion, not having found it physically challenging to deal with such over-confident buffoons. He looked up at his father, his eyes unreadable as he asked again to end this now. "Can't you see this is ridiculous? Can't you just leave me alone?" But, his voice gave him away…the lost, imploring note for understanding, for peace between them, hung in the air.

Disgusted, Skouros looked up at the sky, shaking his head, wondering what he'd ever done to deserve such a repulsive, weak, runt. Gods, the boy sounded like he was on the verge of tears again, pleading with him in front of all these people. Had he no pride? Hard, cold eyes lowered to glare at the boy. "Ridiculous?" he echoed. "Yes…ridiculous that I should be cursed with a son like you. Look at you. Small, scrawny, nothing better than a street fighter when I deserved a warrior for a son. Someone to be proud of, not trash like you."

Moving in as he spoke, with slow deliberation despite his raging fury, Skouros lashed out. But Iolaus blocked his blow, and dipped under the next, not wanting to fight his father, not wanting to hurt him or humiliate him in front of his men who were beginning to show signs of reviving. "Stop this," Iolaus cried, feeling increasingly desperate as he blocked yet another punch toward his face. "I don't want to hurt you."

That did it…pushed Skouros right over the top. How dared Iolaus speak to him like that? Like he was powerless to teach the momma's boy a lesson? As if he could ever be hurt by the likes of a runt like him? Two fists lashed out that time, and while Iolaus blocked one, the other connected brutally, further damaging ribs which had been cracked the night before and battered again by the soldiers only moments ago, driving sharp, ragged edges of bone into a lung. Iolaus doubled over, gasping in pain, and his father took advantage of his distress with a blow so hard to his head that Iolaus was driven to the ground, gasping for breath, stunned.

But, when Skouros moved to kick him in the ribs, he found himself caught by an iron grip on one arm.

"That's enough!" Hercules snarled, wanting to do nothing so much as to smash his balled fist into the beast's face.

Furious to be interfered with, especially by someone else he despised and held in utter contempt, Skouros threw a punch at Hercules with his unencumbered arm, only to find his fist caught and held in a relentless grip that threatened to crush his hand. Hercules pulled him closer, eyes blazing but his voice deceptively calm, even quiet as he said, "You touch him again, ever, and I'll beat you into the ground. Do you understand?"

Curled in the dust, trying to get his breath, Iolaus was appalled to have to be defended from his own father by Hercules. All those years of pretending, of trying to keep Hercules from knowing the full extent of his father's contempt for him, crashed over him. Humiliated, ashamed that even now he couldn't stand up to Skouros without help, Iolaus had to swallow hard against the bile in his throat. Pushing himself to his feet, holding an arm across his chest to push down the pain that slashed through him with every breath, he gasped, "Stop it! Just…stop it."

Overwhelmed by a sense of hopelessness and helplessness, he turned, stumbling a little as he walked away from the nightmare with as much dignity as he could manage. He just wanted to get away…be anywhere but here. The crowd parted, letting him pass by, silent, stunned by the violence and appalled by Skouros' brutality.

Hercules watched him go, then turned back to Skouros who was still held motionless in his grip. "Go away," the demigod ordered then. "And never, ever, come back. You're not welcome here."

Shoving Skouros away in a display of loathsome contempt, Hercules turned to follow his friend through the silent crowd.

By the time Hercules caught up to him, Iolaus had slipped into an alley, seeking the quickest route out of town.

"Iolaus, wait up! Are you alright?" Hercules called, concern clear in his voice. 'Dumb question,' he castigated himself. Who could be all right after that disgusting experience?

Though he had to have heard the demigod's call, Iolaus just kept going. Loping to catch up with him, Hercules reached out to gently take him by the arm and turn him around to face him. Iolaus tried to resist, but pulling away just sent worse daggers through his chest. Head down, unwilling to meet his friend's eyes, he muttered, "Just leave me alone."

"Iolaus…" Hercules began, not liking his buddy's pasty colour, or the beads of cold sweat he saw on Iolaus' face, but his friend cut him off angrily.

"Dammit, Hercules!" Iolaus lashed out, finally meeting his eyes. "Did you have to do that? Defend me? Showing everyone, him, that I can't take care of myself? How could you do that to me?"

"What are you talking about?" Hercules flashed back, dumbstruck by his partner's fury. "He was so far out of line that…."

"It was my problem, not yours. My fight to handle…you shouldn't have interfered," Iolaus cut in again, pulling away, backing up. "Gods, I thought after all this time, at least you had some respect for me."

"Iolaus…you're not making any sense…" Hercules tried to reason with him, calm him down.

But, Iolaus wasn't having any of it. Too angry, too hurt and ashamed, he wasn't ready to listen. "Oh, great, now you're telling me I'm stupid, too. Maybe you and my father have more in common than I thought," he said scathingly, backing further away from his friend.

"You can't be serious!" Hercules shouted back, stung by the insult. Hurt by it. When Iolaus just looked away, the demigod sighed, determined to regain his own control. Fighting with one another wasn't making anything better. "Alright, fine. You need some time to cool off. Fine. I'll see you back home and we can talk about this later."

Turning away, Hercules strode back down the alley without another word.

Slumping against the stone wall behind him, Iolaus watched his best friend walk away. When Hercules turned out of the alley, disappearing from view without a backward glance, the young hunter bowed his head, hot tears blurring his eyes, unable to believe what he'd just said…ashamed by the flash of hurt he'd seen in Hercules' eyes at the unprovoked and unfair attack. Gods, his father was right…he was nothing but a worthless runt, having to be defended by his friend, and not even having the wit to be grateful. Worse, having to lash out and hurt just because he was hurting so bad he could hardly stand it.

Well, fine. He'd take his 'sorry butt' someplace far away and not be a burden to anyone, least of all Hercules, ever again.

Pushing away from the wall, hunched a little against the pain that stabbed through him, he stumbled down the alley and out of Thebes.

Running away, just like the coward his father accused him of being, running to hide in the forest.

* * *

Hercules had barely entered the square when concerned citizens stopped him, worried about Iolaus. One had been thoughtful enough to gather up their forgotten purchases and handed the full basket to him. "How's Iolaus?" one asked while another chimed in, "Is he alright?"

"He's fine," Hercules assured them, raising a calming hand. "Thanks," he murmured to the woman who handed him the basket, before continuing, "He's just angry…he needs a little time to calm down."

"Who wouldn't be angry…that Skouros should be locked up!" the woman replied, clearly furious with the arrogant and cruel general. Others muttered their agreement. They wanted no part of the man or his soldiers.

Hercules nodded, pretty much in agreement with the sentiment himself. But, much as he loathed the man, Skouros was Iolaus' father, and he wasn't about to badmouth him in front of others. The last thing his buddy would want was people talking about him, feeling sorry for him even if was because of his bad luck in having such an ogre for a father, and not, as Iolaus so evidently believed, because they had no respect for him.

"He should have fought back. Iolaus could have broken him in two if he'd've tried," another commented, to more muttered agreement.

Again, Hercules raised a hand to calm them. "Look, Iolaus didn't want to hurt him…bad as he is, Skouros is his father," he explained, privately wishing Iolaus had taught his father a lesson the man would never have forgotten. But, that wasn't his decision to make. "I have to get on home…" he said, turning to stride away.

* * *

One look at the thunderous expression on his face when he strode into the cottage was enough to alarm Alcmene. "Hercules!" she exclaimed, moving across the floor to meet him, "what's happened?"

"Skouros," the demigod spat, putting the basket on the table.

"Skouros?" his mother repeated, not understanding. "What could he have to do with anything? He's been dead for years."

"I wish," her son growled, turning back to face her. "He's very much alive and back in Thebes. He and his barbaric band of mercenaries are the ones who started the fight with Iolaus last night in the tavern…and he started another one today in the market. He's wearing Iolaus' medallion…guess he figures it still belongs to him."

Shocked, Alcmene had lifted a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide and filled with grief for Iolaus. "Oh no," she whispered, "not after all this time. Surely he isn't still wanting to abuse…."

"More than 'wanting'," Hercules sighed, frowning as he remembered the fight…remembered Skouros trying to kick Iolaus when he was down.

Her eyes going past her son for a moment, then coming back to him, she asked, worried, "Where's Iolaus? Was he hurt?"

Throwing up his hands, Hercules began to pace to relieve his agitation. "I don't know where he is…he needed some time to cool off." Turning back to face his mother, he said, a tone of almost wondering disbelief in his voice, "He let Skouros hurt him…oh, not badly," he reassured her at the flash of anxiety in her eyes. "But, Iolaus didn't take him on, didn't fight back…just…just tried to block the punches. He kept asking his father to back off, to leave him alone…but, Skouros wouldn't. Iolaus had beaten every one of his precious soldiers, single-handedly, and still the guy could only insult him, call him names…and, finally, he got in a lucky punch or two. I couldn't stand it…so I intervened and stopped Skouros from hurting him anymore…told him to get out of town and never come back."

Pausing, Hercules swallowed as he turned away, muttering quietly, "Iolaus…Iolaus got mad. Told me off for defending him. Told me I'd made him look weak…helpless…in front of the whole town. Told me to just leave him alone."

"Oh, Hercules," his mother sighed, hearing the pain in his voice, imagining Iolaus' embarrassment.

"I didn't mean to…I never thought…Skouros was going to kick him. I couldn't just stand there and watch," Hercules protested, looking back at her, hoping she, at least, would understand.

"I know, dear," she said, moving to hug him. "And, Iolaus will realize that, too, once he's calmer."

Hugging his mother back, lowering his cheek to rest against her hair, the young demigod murmured, "He accused me of being as bad as his father…."

Alcmene shook her head as she stepped back to look up into her son's troubled eyes. "You know he didn't mean that…he just needed to yell at somebody and you were handy, that's all," she said briskly, patting his arm to comfort him.

"I guess," Hercules sighed, pulling away and moving to slump into a chair. "Gods, I hate that man. How could he do those things, say those things, to Iolaus?" Shaking his head, his lips thinned in disgust and sorrow for his friend. "It must have been a nightmare growing up with a father like that."

Alcmene gazed down at her son and sighed. They were both so young, still, only out of the Academy for a couple of years. Too young, maybe, to realize that too many children had to survive that kind of nightmare. It wasn't right. Was too often ignored because no sane person could really imagine how a parent could abuse a child so mercilessly. Feeling a twinge of guilt, she remembered how long it had taken her to figure it out. And, she reflected, perhaps she'd been wrong to join in Iolaus' deception, keeping the full facts from Hercules for so long, until the evidence of the beatings had been too horrible to explain away any longer.

'Nightmare' didn't begin to describe what Iolaus had survived as a child.

* * *

Iolaus had pushed himself as far as his body would take him, dragging himself back to his feet whenever he'd stumble and fall, coughing harshly, increasingly weak. Driven on by the tumultuous emotions that raged within him, uncaring of the pain, or even of the blood he tasted on his lips, he'd wandered far into the thick forest before he finally collapsed, unable to go any further.

Curling up, drawing his knees to his chest, wracked by deep, wrenching pain with every breath he took, moaning with it when the coughing made it worse, he shivered in the chill of the night. Miserable. Dazed by his injury and by fever.

* * *

When he didn't return for dinner, and after waiting long past the normal time, they had a quiet, somber meal, neither of them really hungry. Anxious for him, but understanding that he just needed some time to himself, they didn't worry too much. He'd come back, probably some time during the night.

But, when morning came, and he still hadn't returned, both mother and son started to worry in earnest.

Hercules was standing outside, had been for hours now, waiting and watching for his friend's return, when Alcmene came up behind him to put her arms around him. "Where do you think he's gone?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know," Hercules replied, his voice tight with concern. "I don't think he was hurt all that bad, but he wasn't in any shape to travel."

Both of them thought a moment, and both of them realized at the same time that, knowing Iolaus, they shouldn't wonder where he would have gone. "The forest," Alcmene sighed. Iolaus had always been as at home in the woods as he was inside of any building, and when he'd been hurt as a child, even just when he needed time to think, he headed for the bush.

"I'm going to find him and bring him home," Hercules said, giving his mother a quick hug. "Don't worry, he won't have gone far."

As Alcmene watched her tall son stride away, she bit her lip, frightened by a sudden sense of dread. Crossing her arms, hugging herself to drive away the chill that had come from nowhere, she murmured to the air, "Oh, Iolaus…please be alright. Gods, child…please be alright."

* * *

By the time that the dawn had finally come, Iolaus was unconscious, his breathing ragged and laboured, blood bubbling on his lips. His body was burning with a fever that raged out of control. Even in his deeply unconscious state, he coughed harshly as his pierced lung tried to clear the blood that was filling it, threatening to drown him.

Sometime early in the afternoon, thunder rumbled overhead…and then it started to rain.

* * *

Hercules had headed back toward Thebes, having a general idea of the place where Iolaus would have entered the forest the day before. Scouting around, frustrated that his tracking skills were no match for his buddy's, he finally found evidence of recently broken stems and the odd scuffed, trampled area where Iolaus had fallen. Once he'd found the trail, it wasn't that hard to follow, Iolaus not having made any effort to cover his tracks.

The first time he spotted the brownish spots on some leaves where Iolaus had apparently again stumbled to the ground, he didn't think much about it. But, he was beginning to worry that the wandering track, and the evidence of frequent falls indicated his buddy had been hurt worse than he'd first thought.

But, when he saw more of the spots, larger ones, he paled as he knelt to brush at them, flaking the dried substance and raising a trace to sniff it, and taste it, as he had seen Iolaus do to identify…blood. His eyes flashed up and he searched the area, feeling the beginning of panic. Iolaus hadn't just been bruised by the blows…he'd been badly hurt. Gods, why had he left his friend to wander off on his own?

Standing, Hercules moved faster now, scared. Lightning flashed, followed by thunder…and then the rain was coming down in sheets. 'Dammit!' he growled. The rain would wash away any sign Iolaus had left, making it that much harder to find him. Running now, his eyes scanning the ground to find the trail before it disappeared, he plunged deeper into the forest.

But, it was hopeless. He couldn't outrun the deluge…and before long, he knew he'd lost the trail. Shaking his sodden hair back from his face, he stared wildly around through the driving rain, and cried out, "IOLAUS! WHERE ARE YOU?? IOLAUS!"

But, there was no answer…just the sound of the rain slashing through the trees, and the crash of thunder rumbling heavily above.

Desperate now, he quartered back and forth, moving ever deeper into the woods, his eyes scanning the ground, calling repeatedly as he went. It seemed that hours had dragged by, and the rain had finally stopped, without any sign and he wondered if he'd missed the trail completely, going off in the wrong direction.

Frantic with worry, knowing his best friend was in serious trouble, his eyes raked the forest, his whole being focused on listening for any sound that might draw him to his partner. Nothing. He couldn't just wander around in here forever…and he wondered if he wouldn't be better to go back to Thebes and get help with the search. Shoulders slumped, he was about to turn back, to race to the town…when he heard something.

Stopping, head up, listening intently, he heard it again…harsh coughing, faint, but…. Getting the direction, he raced through the forest, leaping over any obstacles that got in his way, desperate to get to Iolaus. Another bout of coughing, closer now…he slowed to make sure he didn't race by his friend, missing him completely. Minutes later, he spotted the splash of colour through the thick leaves and undergrowth and ran to drop on his knees beside his unconscious friend.

"Iolaus!" he cried, reaching out to turn Iolaus into his arms, frightened by the fever…terrified by the blood. Iolaus had been soaked by the rain, his face gray with a slight bluish tinge and he lay limp and unresponsive, his breathing shallow and rough.

"Oh gods," Hercules whispered as he brushed the rain-drenched curls away from his partner's face and wiped the blood from his lips. Gathering his friend close, he stood and looked around, getting his bearings, knowing he had to get Iolaus to help as fast as possible.

In his injured, fevered state, Iolaus had unconsciously taken a direction that led to the one place he'd always been safe, even though it was the one place he had wanted most to avoid. They were closer here to his mother's cottage than town, so Hercules turned toward home, running as fast as he could.

* * *

Alcmene had been keeping a worried lookout for hours, pacing in the garden, and then in the house when it began to rain. So, she spotted Hercules racing through the fields almost as soon as he'd broken from the cover of the forest. "Oh no," she whispered when she realized her son was bearing Iolaus in his arms.

Turning to the hearth, she put a kettle on to boil, then gathered small jars of herbs from her shelves, and the porcelain pot, to make a healing tea. By the time Hercules had reached the cottage, she had pulled out linens to dry Iolaus, knowing he'd been caught in the cold rain, as had her son, and had put an extra blanket on his bed. Holding the door open for her son, she asked tensely, "How bad is he?"

"Gods, Mom, he's bleeding inside…and fevered. He can hardly breathe," Hercules gasped, moving past her and down the hall to the bedroom. He laid Iolaus first on his own bed, so that they could strip and dry him before bundling him in the dry linens of the other bed. She had followed her son into the chamber, hearing for herself the terrible, harsh wheezing for breath, the hacking, painful coughs and hurriedly, they worked together to strip Iolaus of his sodden clothing, to dry him and wrap him snugly in warm sheets.

Hercules carried Iolaus to his own bed, pulling the blanket up and tucking it in around his buddy's shoulders. "I'll go for the healer," he said, turning from the room.

"Hurry," his mother breathed, knowing he needed no such urging. She brushed Iolaus' damp hair back from his fevered face, then went to fill a basin with water and to grab some clean rags. She needed to bring the fever down…it was too high, dangerously high. Bathing his face, then careful to leave most of his body covered as she worked to protect him from a chill, she bathed his limbs and body. Sickened by the terrible bruising of his chest and right side, she knew ribs had to have broken, stabbing into a lung. But, she was afraid to try to bind his chest alone, afraid of doing more damage. So, with trembling hands and tears in her eyes, she just did the best she could…and waited, praying for the healer to hurry.

Hercules arrived with Amicles, the old healer from Thebes, less than an hour later. "How is he?" the demigod called as he hustled Amicles into the room.

"Not very good, I'm afraid," Alcmene replied tersely, turning to face her old friend. "There're some broken ribs…he's coughing up blood from his lungs," she said, moving away from the bed to give the healer room to work.

Frowning with concern, Amicles bent over Iolaus, rapidly checking him over, checking the pulse in his throat, too fast and thready…noting the high fever, the bruises. Gently, he probed Iolaus' ribs, chewing on his inner lip when the lad groaned at his touch and tried to flinch away. "Alcmene, I'll need long strips of linen…you know what I mean. Hercules, come over here and hold him steady while I try to manipulate these ribs back into place."

Alcmene brushed past her son as Hercules moved toward the bed. Leaning forward to grip his buddy's shoulders firmly, he winced at Iolaus' moans of distress as Amicles worked over him. Alcmene returned with strips of a sheet she'd rapidly torn up, and she watched, unconsciously wringing her hands as Hercules supported Iolaus while Amicles bound his ribs tightly.

Calling over his shoulder, the healer directed, "I'll need more cushions, to pile behind him. We can't leave him lying flat…its too hard for him to breathe."

Nodding silently, she again swept from the room, returning moments later with pillows from her own bed, and from the chair near the kitchen hearth, piled in her arms. Taking them, Amicles placed them behind Iolaus' back, then motioned for Hercules to settle his friend back down on them. Again, the healer checked the erratic pulse, not liking it…too thready.

Standing back, he studied the battered young man thoughtfully. He'd heard the stories, knew Skouros had come back to town…had done this. 'Dammit,' he thought, remembering the small, bruised and beaten child he'd had to treat for broken bones too often those years ago. 'Why couldn't the brute have stayed dead?'

"He'll be alright, won't he?" Hercules asked quietly, eyes dark with fear studying the healer.

"Hmm?" Amicles muttered, distracted, wondering what else they could do. Turning back to Alcmene, he said thoughtfully, "He'll need fluids, and lots of them to replace the blood he's losing inside. And, herbal tea…I have what you need," he said, reaching for his bag, rummaging in it. "Here," he said, holding out two small linen bags, "this one will help slow the bleeding…and this one will fight the fever. Get as much tea into him as you can…and keep bathing him to cool him down."

"Yes, alright," Alcmene replied, taking the medicine and leaving to prepare the tea.

Hercules reached out to grip the healer's shoulder, to get his attention. "Tell me…will he be alright?"

Sighing, suddenly feeling very old and very tired, Amicles raised his eyes to meet the worried gaze of the younger man. "I'm sorry, Hercules…I just don't know. We'll have to see how he responds." Turning his gaze back to study Iolaus' gray features, listening to his ragged breathing, he continued, "He's been badly hurt, and from you told me about how long he laid in that forest…the rain…well, I'm afraid he'll end up with pneumonia from exposure. That's bad enough, but if his lung doesn't heal…I just don't know."

Feeling sick, Hercules let his hand fall away from the healer's shoulder, and he turned to gaze down at his friend. He never should have left him alone in town. He should have known better…made Iolaus come back home with him. Gods…he shouldn't have left him alone.

* * *

Amicles left, promising to return the next day, and Hercules and his mother set to work, caring for Iolaus, bathing him with tepid water, forcing the tea into him, hour after hour, through the endless night and the next day. When he began to shiver from chills, they piled blankets around him, and Hercules finally crawled onto the bed beside him, to wrap him in his arms, to share his own warmth until the chills abated. When Iolaus coughed and gagged on his own blood, the pillows not giving enough support, Herc pulled his buddy up against his chest, holding him there, Iolaus' head on his shoulder, until his friend could breathe again without choking.

The healer returned as promised just after noon. Amicles frowned, shaking his head at the persistent fever and weak, too fast heartbeat. Grimly, he reported Skouros and his band of mercenaries had left the town the day before. "Too bad," the healer reflected as he told them that when the magistrate had heard how badly Iolaus had been injured, he'd been ready to lock the soldiers up. Skouros deserved to be imprisoned for this…and more. He should have been locked away years ago for what he'd done to his son and to his wife. But, men weren't jailed for 'disciplining' their children or their wives, only for assaulting other men. It was shameful, the healer thought, not for the first time. But, it was just the way it was. Neither children nor women had rights in Greece to protect them from the loving attentions of the family patriarch.

"He deserves to be horse-whipped," Alcmene muttered as she left to fill the basin with fresh water.

Hercules hung his head, agreeing with his mother, but glad Skouros was gone. Iolaus would have died from the shame of having his father locked up for having beaten him. Frowning at the thought, the young demigod raised his eyes to gaze at his friend…desperately hoping that Iolaus wasn't going to die from the beating itself. If only he'd fought back…this didn't need to have happened. Iolaus could take a man like Skouros with both hands tied behind his back…why hadn't he fought back?

That night, Hercules forced his mother to go to bed, to rest if not sleep. But, he stayed up, caring for his friend tirelessly, his large strong hands gentle and patient as they repeatedly bathed his buddy's fevered skin, and held him when he needed help breathing.

"Come on, Iolaus," he whispered in the dark hours of the night, "you can beat this, I know you can."

But, Iolaus didn't respond, remaining limp and gray, dark hollows under his eyes, traces of blood still on his lips when he coughed.

Taking a shuddering breath, terribly afraid, Hercules wiped the blood away and continued to battle the fever.

Given the choice, Iolaus would probably have chosen death. But, his body was young, and strong. It fought back of its own accord, and just before dawn, the fever finally broke, drenching him in sweat. Hercules dried him, and changed the linens, wrapping him snugly in the blankets to keep him warm. After he forced more tea into Iolaus, he sat back and studied his friend. Listening to the breathing…thinking it sounded a little easier. Hoping it wasn't just wishful thinking. He stroked Iolaus' hair back from his face, and held onto one of his hands, reluctant to let go, unwilling to rest himself until he knew, for sure, that Iolaus was getting better.

* * *

Later that morning, lost in nightmares of the past, Iolaus became restless, mumbling incoherently, only phrases or words being clear. But, they revealed the torment in his mind. "No," he cringed, flinching unconsciously, "please…no more. Don't hurt me…don't…."

Alcmene pressed her eyes closed at the pitiful pleas for mercy, at the sound of a child begging his father to stop hurting him, realizing that in his nightmares Iolaus was reliving the horrors of his childhood. Hercules turned away, sick at heart. His fists clenched, and it was a good thing Skouros was long gone, far from the retribution Hercules dearly wished he could take for the suffering Iolaus had endured at his father's hands.

"How could a man do this to his own child?" Hercules murmured, unable to fathom such behaviour. Looking down at his mother who was sitting by the bed, tenderly holding Iolaus' hand, his eyes clouded with questions that had no answers, he shook his head. "I don't understand…I mean, even if Iolaus had been a bad kid, he wouldn't have deserved that. But he wasn't, ever, bad…and, in town, he tried not to fight, tried to get his father to see reason…why has Skouros always wanted to hurt him so badly? Gods… he looked like he wanted to kill Iolaus."

Alcmene sighed as she reached to take her son's hand. "I don't know why some parents do such terrible things, Hercules. I wonder, sometimes, if they even understand why they behave so brutally." Turning back to study Iolaus, she continued, "And, the terrible thing is, the physical wounds aren't even the worst of it. They heal. But…children come to believe they deserve the punishment. That there is something so disgusting about them that even their own parents can't love them. That's the final brutality, the one that destroys so many of them, leaving them feeling they have no worth, no right to be loved. Sometimes… sometimes I wonder if that's why Iolaus ran away from home so many years ago. I think he believed his mother was being beaten because of him, that that, too, was his fault. I just never understood why he didn't come here…why he felt he had to do it all alone."

"Skouros beat Erythia, too?" Hercules repeated softly, frowning at his mother's words, not having known. "And, Iolaus thought that was his fault? But, he hadn't done anything wrong…."

"You know that, I know that…but, Iolaus didn't know that. His cocky self-confidence and constant clowning around were the ways he hid how much he was hurting inside, trying to pretend it didn't matter, that he could handle it. Trying to pretend so that no one else would know his shame…he was so brave," she murmured, her voice breaking, tears filling her eyes.

Hercules laid a hand on his mother's shoulder, rubbing gently, trying to comfort her. "And strong," the demigod reflected. "To have survived all that and still be so decent."

Alcmene sniffed and wiped her eyes. "I'm afraid…I'm afraid that all the pain is still there, all the hurt that that little boy suffered. The belief that he really isn't any good…he's tried so hard to put it all behind him. But, I'm afraid this will bring it all back."

"We won't let it…he knows…he knows he's part of our family. He doesn't need Skouros…doesn't need to prove anything. We'll help him, if he needs it," Hercules asserted, confident that his friend knew better now, knew that everything Skouros had ever told him had only been lies.

Alcmene looked from her son to Iolaus and shook her head. 'If he lets us,' she thought to herself as she reflected upon the instincts that had driven Iolaus to the forest and not to them. 'If he lets us help him.'

* * *

It was early evening when Iolaus regained consciousness, blinking a little in confusion. He shifted, and the pain shot through him, eliciting a surprised moan before he could stifle it. Hercules looked up, and when he realized Iolaus was finally awake, he smiled with relief. "How're you feeling?" he asked softly.

"Terrible," Iolaus responded, his voice hoarse, frowning in concentration as he looked around the room, trying to figure out how he'd gotten here. Looking back at Hercules, his eyes still a little unfocused as he sorted through disjointed memories, he muttered, "I was in the forest…."

"Yeah," the demigod confirmed. "I found you there…you were in pretty bad shape."

Focusing on Hercules now, his face expressionless, his eyes giving nothing away, Iolaus replied, "Found me? Was I lost?"

Made uncertain by the emptiness in Iolaus' voice, Hercules shrugged and shook his head as he replied, feeling suddenly awkward, "I…Mom and I were worried when you didn't come home. So, I went looking for you."

Iolaus gazed at him for a moment, then looked away. "Worried," he repeated softly, a trace of bitterness in his voice. "Shouldn't have worried about me…."

"Well, that's where you're wrong. You had some broken ribs and they'd punctured a lung, I guess. Anyway, you would have died if I hadn't found you when I did, and brought you home…. Iolaus, you should have come home with me when you were so badly hurt. I don't understand why…." Hercules informed him, worried that his buddy seemed so…remote.

But, Iolaus just shook his head weakly, letting his eyes droop closed. "Tired," he murmured, cutting off his friend's words as he turned his head away.

The demigod frowned as his lips parted to say more…but then he swallowed and looked down. Reaching out, he laid his hand over Iolaus', conscious that his friend didn't acknowledge his touch. "Alright," he murmured. "We'll talk more when you feel better."

Iolaus could have been a statue for all the response he made. Unable to stand it, knowing something wasn't right, Hercules sighed, and said quietly, "This wasn't your fault…he's crazy, Iolaus. Please, you…"

His friend pulled his hand out from under Hercules' and seemed to shrink into himself. "Not now, Herc," he whispered. "Just…let me be."

Nodding helplessly, not sure what to do, the demigod stood and quietly left the room. Iolaus opened his eyes and stared at the closed door. For a moment, it looked like he was going to call Hercules back, but then he felt a sudden stab of pain, and he winced, biting off a groan. Tears glistened in his eyes as he turned his face to the wall, wishing…wishing he'd never been born.

* * *

Alcmene looked up from the pot she was stirring over the fire when Hercules wandered into the room and slumped into a chair by the table. Frowning, she stood as she asked, "What is it? What's wrong?"

"He's awake," her son replied listlessly, then he lifted his head to look up at her. "I don't know what's wrong…what to say. He…doesn't want me around, I can tell."

Alcmene looked off down the hall toward the bedroom in the back, then she crossed the kitchen to lift a small clay bowl from the shelf, and after laying it and a spoon on a wooden tray, she went back to the fire and ladled broth into the bowl. "He needs to eat something. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Good luck," Hercules murmured after her departing figure. He'd seen Iolaus like this a few times before. When his buddy put up a wall, it was high and wide…built to withstand all attempts to tear it down. Biting his lip as he crossed his arms, Hercules consoled himself with the thought that even the strongest walls erode over time. If Iolaus thought he was going to close himself off forever, he was wrong. Sighing, Hercules leaned back in the chair, beginning to plan his strategy…because one way or the other, up, under, around or through, he wasn't going to let that wall keep him out forever.

* * *

Alcmene entered quietly and smiled sadly when she saw Iolaus was trying to pretend to be asleep. Setting the tray down on the little table under the window between the beds, she picked up the bowl and spoon and settled into the chair beside Iolaus. "Hercules said you were awake, so I brought you some soup…you haven't eaten in days."

Silence.

"You might have chased him out, but you should know better than to think you can pull the same stunt on me," she said briskly. "I know all your tricks and none of them work on me…except maybe your charm. So, do you want to feed yourself, or shall I feed you, one drop at a time if need be?"

Despite himself, he felt a grin steal across his lips. Shaking his head a little, he finally turned his face to hers, opening his eyes to gaze at her. "You would, too, wouldn't you?" he asked softly.

"Bet on it…no one goes hungry in this house, even if he wants to," Alcmene lectured with pretended sternness.

"What makes you think I want to?" he asked, not quite meeting her eyes.

Dipping the spoon in the bowl, she raised it, one brow cocked as she shook her head. "Oh no. No avoidance tactics, no trying to distract me with conversation so that I forget that I came in here to get some food into your body. Open up."

Crossing his arms over his chest, pushing against the pain that gripped him, he shook his head. "I really don't want…"

"Maybe I should call Hercules to hold you down while I force feed you," she threatened.

His eyes flashed to hers at that, a ghost of the old humour lurking in them. "You don't play fair," he accused.

Disarmed, letting her stern manner fall away, she gazed at him with boundless love. "No, I don't…and I won't," she assured him, quietly with infinite sincerity. "I love you, and I'm not going to let you slip away from me. I know you're hurting from more than those ribs, Iolaus. I know he's hurt you again. But, you're mine, and I won't have you believing you deserved any of it, ever."

Tears filled his eyes at her words and the love in her eyes. He began to tremble, his throat working as he tried to swallow the sob that lurked there. Sniffing, he looked down and away, shaking his head, finally choking out, "I don't…."

But, his voice cracked before he could finish… 'deserve your love….'

The pain in his expression, in his voice, stabbed through Alcmene's heart. Oh gods, it was happening again…Skouros' vicious brutality, his relentless hatred, was triggering all the old responses, all the old doubts about his worth, his right to be loved.

Aching for him, she dropped the spoon back into the soup and set the bowl on the table as she stood to sit on the bed and pull him forward into her arms, one hand stroking his hair as she hugged him close. "Oh, my son, I hate him for what he's done to you. You are such a fine man. I wish you could believe that," she whispered, close to tears herself.

A silent tear spilled down his cheek as he rested his head on her shoulder. He wished he could believe it, too. But, he knew Alcmene always, only, saw the best in people, saw what she wanted to see. It didn't make it true. Finally, taking a shuddering breath, he knew he couldn't hurt her like this, couldn't let her worry about him so much. Gods, he was nothing but trouble. He loved her so much, the least he could do was pretend for her that things were okay. Sniffing, he pulled back, and wiped his eyes. "Thanks," he murmured.

She touched his face gently, and pushed back the matted curls as she gazed into his eyes, not fooled, not really, but she saw his love for her shining back into her eyes, and she nodded. It was a start. Standing, she reached for the soup. But, when she turned back, his face scrunched up. "It'll be cold," he complained, a teasing glint of laughter in his eyes.

Startled, she looked down at the broth, then back up at him, grinning a little. "You imp…you distracted me after all! Making me forget I was here to make you eat."

"Uh huh," he agreed, mirroring her grin.

"Well, too bad…you'll just have to eat it cold," she decreed, holding the bowl out towards him.

"Ah, 'mene," he whined for effect, deliberately conjuring up the name he'd called her when he'd been a child.

"Eat!" she ordered.

Rolling his eyes, he blew out a breath and held out his hand like a good little martyr to take the bowl. Feeling the warmth of it in his hand, and the treacherous hunger in his body, he did smile then, a bit humorously, as he began to eat. 'Might as well face it,' he thought to himself with no little disgust, 'I just don't have the will power to starve myself to death.'

She sat again, to keep him company while he ate, seeing the slight tremble in his hands, sorrowed by it. This was the 'I'll be cheerful for Alcmene' routine she'd seen so many times when he'd been much younger. So kind, even in the midst of his own suffering, he didn't want her to worry about him. How could he not see himself as others saw him? How could he not see that he was a miracle to be the man he was despite all he'd had to endure? Shaking her head a little, she knew he was the only one who could ever convince himself of his own worth…no one could do that for him. But, maybe, if they held up enough mirrors, he'd be forced to look into them, and see what everyone else saw so clearly.

* * *

Iolaus seemed more like himself the next day, the remoteness gone, the grin back. Complaining when they wouldn't let him get up, hungry all the time. He joked and teased Hercules, and his friend laughed, though the demigod noticed the timing was always just a little off, the banter ever so slightly forced. But, it was better than the silence of the first night when he'd awakened.

Alcmene and Hercules gave him time, and space, to regain his balance. Every once in a while, they'd test the boundaries, raising the subject of what had happened, but he'd just look away, and change the direction of the conversation. He thought they didn't notice the shadows in his eyes when he thought they were distracted by something else…but, they did, and they'd exchange their own looks of silent concern. Knowing nothing had been resolved, that he was hiding still behind his wall, they watched him, waiting for him to make the next move, united in their determination to help him, whether he asked for help or not.

It was not quite two weeks later when Hercules woke in the predawn light and saw Iolaus fully dressed, quietly stuffing his gear into his pack. "What's up?" he asked quietly, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Startled, Iolaus jumped a little as he turned to face him. Shrugging, he turned back to finish packing, silently cursing that he hadn't just been able to sneak away as he said off-handedly, "I'm just…getting ready to go."

"I can see that. Go where?" Hercules asked, pushing fingers through his hair and then reaching for his own pants.

"Oh, you know, wherever…no place special," Iolaus responded, dumping the packed sack on the floor without turning and pulling up the sheets and blankets. He might be a slob anywhere else, but in Alcmene's house, he made his own bed.

"Okay," Hercules shrugged, pulling on his shirt, and then his vest, standing to tuck them into his pants and do up his belt. "But, don't you think we should wait and say good-bye to Mother? She'll think something's wrong if we just disappear."

Iolaus turned and was startled to see that his friend was fully dressed. "We?" he repeated. "I…that is, I thought you'd like a little time with Alcmene, on your own, you know. Gods know, you haven't had time to visit what with having to take care of me. So, I thought I'd just…do a little hunting maybe, or fishing…."

"You're babbling, Iolaus," Hercules observed mildly. "Hunting sounds good…so does fishing. Mom and I had a lot of time to visit, actually, so I'm ready to go when you are."

Iolaus' shoulders sagged and his head dropped for a moment. Sighing, he looked up, and gesturing with one hand unconsciously, he finally admitted, "I'm going alone this time, Herc…"

"Nope," Hercules cut in. "We're partners, remember. We travel together. Back to back and all that."

Feeling more than a little uncomfortable, not wanting to fight about it, Iolaus searched for the right words. Swallowing, looking away, he finally tried to explain, "Look, I appreciate everything you and your Mother have done for me. But, neither of you owe me anything, and well, I just think it's time I moved on."

"I'm not letting you leave here alone," Hercules advised him, crossing his arms as he waited patiently to see if Iolaus would come up with any other lame excuses for trying to sneak away on his own.

Getting seriously irritated, Iolaus snapped, "You're not my keeper."

"No…I'm your friend," Hercules replied flatly, also tiring of the charade. Biting his lip, he looked aimlessly around the room. "I know you don't want to talk about it, so fine, we won't. But, there's something I have to say. I might have been out of line when I intervened to stop your father from kicking you when you were down. But, I couldn't just stand there and watch you take whatever he wanted to do to you. I'm sorry I embarrassed you."

Iolaus had turned away, hands up as if trying to stave off the discussion, not wanting to talk about it. But, Hercules carried on relentlessly, this time not willing to just let it go. "You said something that day that's bothered me ever since. You said it was 'your' problem, as if it had nothing to do with me. Well, at the risk of throwing your own words back in your teeth, I'd like to remind you of something you said to me not long after we graduated and I was ready to head off alone, to handle 'my' problems. You told me in no uncertain terms that 'my' problems were 'your' problems by definition, because we're friends. Well, I'm telling you the same thing now. Talk about it, avoid it, pretend there's nothing wrong…fine. Whatever. That's up to you. But don't try to ever tell me your problems aren't mine, too. You're my friend, my best friend. And, I'm not going to let you walk out of my life. That's just not ever going to happen, so live with it."

His back to the demigod, Iolaus pressed his eyes closed, his head tilted a little away. He pushed a hand through his hair, and tried to steady his breathing. Part of him kept shouting that he didn't deserve this gesture of friendship, that he'd bring nothing but grief to Hercules, that he owed it to his friend to just get out of his life. But, part of him wanted to weep for gratitude, that he wasn't alone, and wouldn't ever be alone. That Hercules cared about him, no matter what, whether he deserved it or not. Finally, he nodded, and swiped the back of his hand across his nose, as he murmured, "Okay…thanks."

"Fine," Hercules said, sitting back down on his bed to pull on his boots. "So, do we wait to say good-bye to Mom?"

Nodding, Iolaus conceded it was the right thing to do. And, it would be okay, because if Hercules wasn't going to let him just disappear, then it wasn't really 'good-bye', not for good. That's what he'd planned to avoid by leaving before dawn. He couldn't imagine ever actually saying good-bye to either of them, and meaning it was forever, without losing it completely. "Yeah…we'll go after breakfast, okay?"

The demigod smiled then, feeling as if he'd won a major battle. "Okay," he replied. "And, you know Mom, she'll load us with so much food we won't need to actually catch anything for a week!"

Iolaus snickered a little at that as he finally turned back to face his friend, "Which is only one of the countless reasons that I think your mother is the most wonderful woman on earth."

"Yeah?" Hercules mused, one brow cocked and a sweet smile on his lips as he studied his friend. "Well, it's mutual…she thinks the sun rises and sets on you."

* * *

All that unconditional love couldn't help but heal a battered heart. Iolaus didn't feel he deserved it, didn't feel he'd ever be worthy of what they gave him, or measure up to how much they believed in him, but the love, and time, allowed him to reconstruct the shell around those feelings, bury the anguish his father's words caused. He reclaimed his life's mission, to be the man they thought he was, to never let them down, to give whatever he had to keep them safe.

But, he felt haunted by his father's presence in the world. Every time they entered a village or town, he'd watch to see if his father was there, wondering what he'd do if he ever saw him again. The ever present possibility of having to confront him again ate away at the hunter. Though his friend tried to hide it, Herc noticed the uneasiness, the masked trepidation, whenever they were around crowds of strangers until Iolaus had assured himself that his father was nowhere around. Hercules also noticed the nightmares that troubled Iolaus almost every night, causing him to stir restlessly, muttering, sometimes even crying in his sleep.

Hercules wanted to respect Iolaus' desire to not talk about it, didn't want to push him. But, this was no good. He couldn't stand his buddy's pain, couldn't pretend it wasn't there, couldn't just ignore it. For a while, he hoped it would ease up, but it just seemed to get worse. Finally, he knew he couldn't let it go much longer, and he struggled to find a way to talk about it that wouldn't end up causing Iolaus more distress.

Two nights later, when Iolaus woke from yet another nightmare, Hercules stopped pretending he was asleep, and sat up, throwing a few sticks into the fire to build it up a little. Startled, Iolaus looked up at him. "Sorry…I didn't mean to wake you," he said, rubbing his face, trying to shake off the images and voices of his dream.

"I know," Hercules replied. "But…Iolaus, you can't go on like this…all torn up inside. It's not right."

"What?" his buddy replied, frowning.

"You have nightmares every damned night. You flinch whenever we see strange soldiers, until you realize that you don't know any of them. He's…haunting you. And you're letting him. We need to talk about it…drive him away somehow," Hercules said, faltering a little, gesturing for emphasis as he spoke.

"Herc, I don't…" Iolaus began, shifting away.

"Want to talk about it. I know. I just don't think it's working, Iolaus…" Hercules bit his lip. "Ignoring it isn't making it better."

But, Iolaus just shook his head…he'd held it all inside his whole life. He didn't know how to talk about it, even if he'd wanted to.

"Gods, Iolaus…don't you trust me?" Herc implored, holding out one hand unconsciously.

Whirling at the tone, the question, Iolaus blurted, "Of course I trust you…how can you even ask me that?"

"Then, why can't you talk to me about this…about him and how he makes you feel inside?" Hercules asked, his eyes dark with concern.

Iolaus drew his knees up to his chest, crossing his arms over them as he looked up into the night sky, searching the stars for inspiration. But, the images, feelings, voices all just tumbled together, making him feel tight inside, choking him. Shaking his head, he looked back across the fire at this friend. "I don't know how…I don't know if I even can talk about it."

Studying him, believing him, Hercules wondered how to break through the walls and the lies that Iolaus carried inside. "What makes what he says true and what every one else says false?" he asked.

Frowning, Iolaus struggled with the question, knowing what Hercules was getting at. Why did he believe Skouros was right about him, about his worthlessness, and Herc, Alcmene, Jason, Cheiron and others wrong? Why couldn't he believe them? "Well, first off, I guess because I know the rest of you are basically kind and never say much of anything bad about anyone. So…maybe you see something in me that's not there," he ventured. "And…I guess it's more about what I feel than what I think."

"What do you mean?" Hercules asked, leaning forward. Maybe they were getting somewhere.

Iolaus rubbed the back of his neck as he struggled to find the words. "When you hear someone tell you, someone who should know…that you're…well, worthless, every time they see you for your whole life, you begin to believe they must know what they're talking about," he said slowly, distancing it a little, as if it was just a general discussion, not something so profoundly personal that it virtually defined his entire self image.

"Uh huh," Herc murmured, signaling he was listening. "And…"

"And…when someone you…love, who is supposed to love you back, at least from anything you can tell from anyone else's life…doesn't…love you…even hates you…you start to believe there must be a reason." Iolaus' voice had dropped, and the words were coming hard. "You know that there must be something really…terrible about you. Horrible. Rotten. That you don't deserve to be loved…not by anybody."

"Who does your father love?" Hercules asked.

Startled by the question, Iolaus looked up again, biting his lip as he thought about it. "Well, I guess there must have been a time when he loved my mother…but, honestly, I never saw it. I think he loves his men, and one of my cousins…a big, strong warrior type. Or, at least he respects them," he said thoughtfully, remembering the day his father had paraded his cousin as the son he wished he'd had.

"Iolaus…maybe your father doesn't love anyone…maybe it's not you that has something rotten or broken inside…maybe it's him," Hercules suggested softly. "You know, in your head, you know that no man who beats his own children is…normal or sane. You know, when you see kids in that kind of situation today that it isn't their fault…that they're helpless…victims…innocent."

"Yeah, I know, but…" Iolaus couldn't mesh the thoughts with the feelings. Looking away, he swallowed hard. Gods, he just felt so…useless, worthless, inside.

"But? But what?" Hercules pushed him, knowing that somehow, Iolaus needed to get it out.

"Why does he hate me so much?" his buddy whispered, his eyes on the fire, unable to look at his friend. "What did I do that was so wrong…how can I get past that?"

"Maybe you can't…" Hercules sighed. "He calls you terrible names, says really horrible things to you…but, none of it is true, Iolaus. He's wrong…and you're wrong to believe him, to listen to him."

Iolaus continued to stare into the fire, wanting to believe what Hercules was saying…in his head, recognizing that his friend made sense. He was crazy to let his father's words, deeds, eat away at him. But, "Nothing I ever did ever pleased him…even now, when I can take out all of his warriors, by myself, it's not enough. He said…he always told me he wanted me to be a man, a real man…strong…a warrior. And, I've tried…but it's never good enough for him. He's so ashamed of me, Herc. I'm his only son…and he's ashamed of me." Looking across the fire, the moisture in his eyes glittering with its reflection, he murmured, "I can't help being…small. I didn't choose this…I can't change my body…."

"You're not small," Hercules scoffed. "You just hang around with a bigger than average guy."

His buddy smiled a little at that, but there was a sadness about him, a sense of hopelessness, as if he realized Herc was just trying to cheer him up.

"I mean it, Iolaus," Hercules said, his voice firm, with no trace of humour. "There isn't anything 'small' about you. You've got more courage than anyone else I've ever known. You haven't got it in you to hurt anyone…gods, you can't help standing up for people in trouble, regardless of the odds. You've got the biggest, most generous heart…you're a sucker for any sob story, worse than me, except you won't ever admit it. You're the best hunter and tracker in Greece…and, you're right, your skills as a warrior can take anybody. To be honest, I don't know why you stood there and took it from him, why you didn't fight back. You let him hurt you…I know he's your father, and you don't want to fight with him…but, gods, if he comes at you, you have the right to defend yourself."

Iolaus winced when he thought back to the last confrontation, remembering what it had been like, and he had to take a shuddering breath to push back the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him.

"What?" Hercules asked sharply, worried, when he saw the evident distress trembling through his best friend's body. "What happened that you…."

"I…" Iolaus cut in, raising a hand to stop the flow of words, the questions. Swallowing, blinking hard, he wrapped his arms tightly around himself, biting his lip. Pushing the feelings back, fighting for control. His throat tight, he grated, "I…it's like some kind of wave…and I'm drowning, Herc. He makes me feel… useless, helpless. When he came at me…it was like I was a little kid again…powerless to stop him…and… it hurt…it just hurt so much I couldn't think."

Hercules bowed his head, torn up by the naked agony in Iolaus' voice. His fists clenched in impotent fury for everything Skouros had ever done to his friend and he wished he could give the man a taste of his own medicine. But, he knew that even if he could, beating up Skouros wouldn't change how Iolaus felt…might only make him feel worse, like he had when Hercules had defended him in the market that day. It was this sense of powerlessness that was haunting Iolaus more than anything else…letting him believe that Skouros was right about him. They had to find a way past this.

"It's hopeless," Iolaus whispered into the night, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

"No…it's not hopeless," Hercules contested, his head coming back up to gaze at his friend. "Iolaus…it was a shock to see him. You thought, gods, we all thought, he was dead. You didn't have any time to prepare, to distance who you are now from the kid you were then. No time to…I don't know…understand that what he says is wrong, always was wrong. He was just there, in your face. No wonder you reacted instinctively, the only way you've known to act before. But…it's different now. You…you don't have to give him control because he can't take it anymore. He's a bully…just like every other bully. If you don't back down…he will."

"Bully?" Iolaus repeated, straightening a little.

"Yeah…you've never had any time for guys like that, who try to intimidate people they think are weaker than themselves. You always stand up to them, no matter how big or mean they are…and push back. Drawing a line and not letting them cross it. Gods, ever since we were little kids, you've taken on every bully that had the stupidity to misjudge you…and you've taught them to think twice before they take advantage of anyone when you're around. Because you stop them…every time." Hercules paused, watching Iolaus, knowing that somehow thinking about his father this way made a difference. "He's just like all the rest, Iolaus…no different. Just as mean, just as wrong and just as in need of being taught a lesson as any of the others you've faced down over the years."

Iolaus nodded a little as he thought about that. In his mind, he could picture his father, the pugnacious expression, the using of his height to intimidate, the yelling, the aggressive manner…the way he ordered everyone around, to make the world the way he wanted it to be, to suit his purposes and his alone. Disrespectful and brutal…mean. A bully. Shaking his head a little at the new insight, Iolaus suddenly realized that every bully he'd ever stood up to, and knocked down if necessary, was his own way of not letting anyone else suffer what he'd suffered. He smiled a little then, in wonder. He'd faced the symbol of his father any number of times…maybe he could do this. Maybe, for once, if he ever saw the original bully of his life again, he could stand up to him, too.

He looked back across the fire at Hercules, and seeing the expression on his friend's face, the brows up, the questioning look, as if to ask, 'So?', he had to smile a little as he nodded. "Yeah…I can see that. A bully. Now, that I know how to handle," Iolaus said softly. "Thanks, Herc…I never saw him like that before, but you're right. If I ever have the gods-awful bad luck of ever seeing the miserable bastard again, I'll try to remember that."

Hercules relaxed then and smiled. For once in his life, he almost hoped they would see the 'miserable bastard' again. That could be worth the price of admission. "Good…so…you'll let it go…all that stupid stuff he's ever told you? You won't believe any of it anymore?"

Iolaus' eyes skittered away. Could he take it that far? Really believe that everything he'd known about himself, believed about himself, that he was worthless…could he really just let that go? "I don't know," he admitted then, more to himself than to Hercules. "But, I'll try."

"It's a start, buddy…a start in the right direction," Hercules told him. "And, it's about time."

* * *

A year passed, a year of adventures and dangers, of facing down enemies, both human and otherwise, monsters that terrorized innocent people. A year in which Iolaus was able to recover a sense of self-respect and set aside much of his sense of humiliation at the encounters with his father in Thebes.

But, there was still a shadow in his heart. Though he came to believe again that he was of help to Hercules, that he made a difference by standing by his best friend's side, guarding his back, he didn't believe he was really needed…that his life really amounted to anything. He felt such gratitude to Hercules for his friendship, for giving him a chance to make his life mean something, for giving him a purpose.

For all the shame that still lurked in his heart, for all the sense of worthlessness he carried around inside, having had it battered in his very soul, he knew Hercules, and Alcmene, believed in him. It gave him the strength to carry on, to prove their trust and love for him was not misplaced, mistaken. He swore to himself every day when he woke up and every night before he slept that he would make them proud of him…that he would repay them for their kindness and support.

That was his purpose. To make a difference where he could. To make them proud of him. To do whatever it took to make sure they would never, ever, look at him like his father had, would never turn away from him, as his mother had. Whatever it took….

And, as time went on, it got easier, the hurt inside blunted by the reality of the life he was living and the joy he took in it. Though, from time to time, he wondered what he'd do if he ever had to face his father again.

* * *

Pirates had been raiding ships along the coast off the town of Antirion, both within the Bay of Corinth and in the Ionian Sea beyond the headland. Emboldened by their success on the water, they had begun to spread their terror to the land, raiding seaside villages, pillaging, raping…destroying. Word spread that there was trouble in that far western area of Greece…trouble which needed strong warriors to combat it.

The band of mercenaries had made their way to Antirion, certain the King there would welcome their aid and pay well for the restoration of peace. Leaving his small army to make camp, their leader, the well known and respected General Skouros, presented himself to King Theolorian as soon as they arrived at the town.

Bowing his head before the ruler, Skouros rendered his offer of assistance. "Sire, I have a hundred men with me, and we are ready to pledge ourselves to you, to rid you of the vermin that are attacking your villages for good. We are prepared to hunt them, on land, and on the sea."

Slightly bemused by the unexpected offer, and not really thrilled that a hundred hungry mercenaries had descended upon his land hoping for work and recompense, King Theolorian explained, gently, that the services of General Skouros and his men were not really required. Not unless his chosen champions had a use for them, at any rate.

"Thank you, General Skouros. Your reputation for strong leadership and excellent results is well known, and you must be deservedly proud of your many victories. However, I have sent for assistance, and at this point I feel I must decline your generous offer of support," the King replied, his tone having just enough warmth to soften the rejection.

Looking up, a little surprised by the refusal, Skouros smiled diplomatically as he continued to press his case. "I understand, Your Majesty, and I'm glad if help is on the way…but, we are here now, and could begin immediately…."

Wondering how to dissuade this eager would-be champion, the King's eyes lifted thoughtfully…and with relief, he saw those he had sent for enter the reception hall. Smiling, he waved them forward. "Again, I thank you, General, but the help I sent for is here…they have just arrived. But, stay, perhaps they will be glad of the assistance you and your men could lend to this effort. The decision will be theirs."

A slight frown on his face at the thought of taking direction from others, Skouros turned in curiosity to see who these lauded champions could be…and his jaw dropped in consternation as he felt the old anger grip his heart.

Hercules and Iolaus had smiled at the King's evident welcome and were making their way across the massive hall to the throne, not recognizing the warrior speaking with the King until he turned to face them.

Iolaus' step faltered a little in shock, while Hercules' expression went deliberately bland, his eyes wary. Bowing his head slightly to the King, the demigod barely acknowledged the general's presence.

"King Theolorian, I'm sorry we couldn't get here any sooner. We were north of Athens when your message reached us," Hercules explained to the King, wondering if their help was still required or if the King had accepted the military support Skouros' presence represented.

"No matter," the King waved off the apology. "You're here now and I'm grateful that you and Iolaus responded so quickly. I don't know if you are acquainted with General Skouros, but he has just very generously offered the support of his militia to assist in defeating the pirates. I was explaining to him that it would be up to you to determine whether his assistance is required."

Hercules brows ascended as he nodded, taking this in. He turned to face the general, and could see the man's fury in his eyes. With an almost unholy glee, the demigod said lightly, "Well, I don't know, what do you think Iolaus? Could we use the help?"

The words had barely left the hero's lips when Skouros wheeled to face the King. His hatred and contempt blinding him, he blurted, "Sire, surely you can't be serious! You would trust the fate of your land and people to these two…." Words failed him, and perhaps just as well.

The King's eyes narrowed at the insolent tone, the insult to the heroes clear in the man's voice. Holding up a hand to stave off any further comments or observations on the part of the general, he replied coldly, "There are no better men in all of Greece than Hercules and Iolaus. I trust my life, and my kingdom, to them without hesitation. They are heroes…and undefeated. I would suggest that you show them the respect they deserve."

Choking on his rage, Skouros bowed his head before the King's ire. This was unbelievable! Oh, he'd heard some of the stories about these two glory-hounds, but he'd never given them any credence. He knew the two of them, knew they were good for nothing. It was ridiculous…but if the King was such a fool, so be it.

"I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. I meant you no disrespect. My men and I will stand down, but remain close, should you find that our support may be required." He deliberately took the King's noncommittal shrug as permission to withdraw and turned on his heel, marching from the hall without another word…or glance at the two so-called 'heroes'. He had no doubt the King would soon find his trust was sadly misplaced.

Hercules watched the General turn away, and took the opportunity to glance at Iolaus who had taken up his habitual stance just slightly behind and beside him. He frowned a little when he saw that Iolaus' head was down, turned away from his father, his face flushed.

"Arrogant man," the King muttered, drawing the demigod's attention back to him. "But, no matter. Hercules, Iolaus, welcome. Now, how shall we proceed to deal with these pirates who dare to molest my ships and villages?"

Hercules asked the King to give them a few more details on what had been occurring, to gain a better understanding of what they were up against. As the two heroes listened, it became increasingly clear that the raids were sporadic, with no observable pattern, making it hard to predict where or when the next one would occur.

Hercules stood with his hands on his hips, his head down as he listened, chewing on his lip thoughtfully. Beside him, having wrestled with the facts and his own emotions, Iolaus cleared his throat, and he looked over at his friend. "You have an idea of where we might begin?" Hercules asked, wondering a little at the look of…reluctance in his friend's eyes.

"Maybe," Iolaus replied, looking from his friend to the King. "Your Majesty, your rule extends over a broad sweep of coastline, making it difficult for just the two of us to know where the pirates might attack. Maybe…" he paused a moment, gathering the strength to make his suggestion, "maybe there could be a role for the mercenaries. They could be deployed in the villages beside the sea to watch for signs of the pirates…and, then when the enemy is spotted, they could send word. Hercules and I could then go directly to the area where the next attack is most likely to take place. In the meantime, the mercenaries could be instructed to train the local people on self defence strategies, you know, like building barricades to channel the raiders to places where they can be intercepted and fought off, drill the men in fighting techniques, and so on."

A look of wonder, and no little respect, blossomed in the demigod's eyes, knowing what this suggestion must cost Iolaus. But, he nodded. The idea made a great deal of sense and would ensure the protection of the villages. If Iolaus was willing to put up with Skouros for the good of the mission, he was also willing to try working with the man. Turning back to the King, he added his support to the idea. "I think Iolaus is right…the last thing either of us wants is to leave any of your people at further risk. We can't be everywhere at once, but Skouros has sufficient forces to deploy them as advance parties."

The King thought about it for a moment, then agreed. "Alright, it's your call. If you have use for them, I have no objection. I'll leave it you to explain the strategy to him. And, thank you again…I have no doubt that with your leadership, we'll soon have these villains on the run."

Nodding briefly, the two heroes backed away, then turned to leave the royal presence.

* * *

As they left the weathered stone castle, Hercules turned to his friend. "Iolaus, are you sure you really want to do this? Work with him?" the demigod asked.

"No," Iolaus admitted, a little wearily, rubbing a hand over his face and pushing his fingers through his hair. Turning to look up at his friend, he went on, "But, there's too much ground to cover, too many places needing protection all at the same time. If we can secure the villages, and then get an early warning of a likely location for the next raid, we can stop these guys." Shrugging, he finished quietly, "I can't let my personal feelings get in the way of making sure these people get the protection they need."

Hercules laid a hand briefly on his partner's shoulder, conveying his respect for Iolaus' decision and his understanding of how hard it must be to face the idea of working with his father. "Alright," he said. "Let's go see if Skouros is interested in a partnership."

Iolaus blew out a breath, and nodded. This was not going to be a pleasant conversation, but there was no time to put if off. Best get it over with. Turning, he and Hercules headed out of town to the campsite they'd wondered about when they'd passed it on the way to see the King. From the size of the camp, they'd known there were at least eighty to a hundred warriors there.

Hercules was conscious of the silence as they walked to the camp, respecting Iolaus' need to prepare for the showdown to come. The blond warrior walked at a slower pace than usual, his head down, as he struggled with his emotions. He dreaded seeing his father…had been shocked to recognize him at the palace, all the old misery surging back to almost overwhelm him. But, he'd stood his ground, his heart grabbing for the memory of the night Hercules had made him confront some of what he felt…helped him to see his father in a different light. He was a bully, just a bully. There was no need to be afraid of him anymore. He could handle this. Silently, he'd listened to the exchange, heard his father stomp out and then had forced himself to focus on the King's description of what they were up against. It had been obvious that they needed help, couldn't cover the wide territory all by themselves. But, gods, it had taken everything he had to make the suggestion to work with his father.

Now, he just kept telling himself over and over that he could do this…he could face the man. He had to. Other lives depended on it. But, gods, he hoped that they could get through this without a fight. He really didn't want to face that…didn't want to be forced to take his father on again. He wondered if he could fight his father if he had to this time, or if he'd fold again, diminished and defeated by their history and his reluctance to stand up to his father. Licking his dry lips as they neared the camp, he forced himself to straighten his back and square his shoulders. He was a man, not a child. He could do this.

Despite their slow pace, in less than half an hour they had reached the edge of the camp and had explained to the sentry that they were there on behalf of King Theolorian. Nodding, the warrior waved them through with directions on how to find the general's tent, sending another warrior with them just in case they weren't the messengers they claimed to be.

Their escort bade them wait outside the tent and entered it to let the general know messengers from the King were asking to see him. Gratified that the King had come to his senses, Skouros lifted the flap of the tent, and froze for a moment when he saw who was standing there.

Striding forward, disgust written in his expression and body language, he demanded harshly, "What are you two punks doing here?"

Hercules held up a hand, his face stern as he replied, "Iolaus suggested that the help of you and your forces would be an important asset in defending against further incursions along the coast. Your men could be deployed to erect defensive barricades in the villages and to stand watch…sending word when the pirates' ship is sighted."

Skouros' head came up as he listened, his sense of insult barely in check. Looking scathingly at Iolaus he rumbled, "I knew the stories about the two of you couldn't be true. First sign of real trouble and you're looking around for real warriors to do your work for you. I can't believe the King is such a fool as to rely upon you."

Iolaus looked away, while Hercules shrugged. "It's up to you. You know as well as we do that the territory to cover is too much for two men, but if you're not interested, fine," he said, almost hoping the detestable man would refuse to cooperate, except, like Iolaus, he knew the villagers would be at risk without the aid of seasoned warriors helping to safeguard their homes and lives. Theolorian didn't keep a standing force, having too small a holding to support an army of his own, so these warriors really could be an asset.

Snapping his eyes back to the demigod, Skouros snarled, "If you think I'm going to bail you out, or take orders from you, you're even more stupid than I thought."

Iolaus looked up at that, not willing to stay silent when Hercules was being repeatedly insulted by his father. "Hey, look, we've just made you a reasonable offer of a chance to earn some dinars to support this…army of yours. You work for pay, and that's the deal. Take it or leave it," he said heatedly, his eyes flashing.

"Why you insolent pup," Skouros muttered, raising his hand.

But, Hercules took a step forward, the warning in his eyes clear as he repeated, his voice low, "Take it or leave it, like Iolaus said. Will you work for the King's money or not?"

Conscious that he had officers listening, Skouros hesitated. He had a large force, and they needed to earn their way or they'd cross the thin line between being honourable mercenaries and becoming outlaws who simply took what they needed to survive. For all his belligerence, the general was no fool, nor was he without a sense of honour of his own…he knew those villagers needed his help. He'd been a warrior all his life and loathed the risk that despite his strong command, and the respect in which he was held by his troops, that he might someday lose control if he could not find paying work for them to do. His coffers were nearly empty and he needed the King's gold.

His face a frozen mask of disgust, he spat on the ground to convey his displeasure at the arrangements. But, he backed down. "All right. For the King, his gold, and the lives of the villagers who will depend on our protection…fine. Explain how you thought this would work and then I'll tell you how it should be done," he replied, crossing his arms.

Taking a deep breath, reminding himself that this was for the good of the innocents who relied upon them, Hercules set out the plan of attack. Skouros scratched his cheek once the demigod had finished, considering the strategy. His lip jutting out, he nodded grudgingly with one caveat, "All right, we'll do this your way for now…but understand this, my men won't wait for you to appear to do what's needed, nor will they risk the success of the mission to make you look good."

Rolling his eyes, Hercules replied, "Fine…we don't expect them to wait if there's an attack before we arrive…and don't worry about making us 'look good'. Just do your part and we'll be satisfied."

They worked out the final details of how the messages would be handled in the event the pirates were sighted, then he and Iolaus left the camp, both of them silent until Hercules muttered, "What a jerk."

"Tell me about it," Iolaus murmured wryly in reply.

* * *

As good as his word, Skouros deployed his troops and they dutifully did what was required to establish lookouts and to prepare the villages and their inhabitants for the possibility of attack. Three days later, word came that the pirates had been sighted off the coast to the west of Antirion. Hercules and Iolaus set off a run, arriving just before dusk. The ship had remained well off shore, confident they had not been spotted, waiting for night to launch their attack. But, to his credit, the lookout was good…he'd found a high point in the hills above the village and had spotted the ship over the horizon, invisible to the village below.

As night fell, the heroes, soldiers and villagers watched and waited, having prepared as best they could. When the ship finally drifted in close enough to be distinguished in the darkness, they studied it, and the size of the force that deployed into the rowboats lowered from its side.

"Looks like most of them are coming in," Iolaus observed, having counted the pirates who had slipped silently over the ship's rail and knowing about how many a ship that size would host.

"Uh huh," murmured Hercules in agreement.

Turning to the demigod, Iolaus frowned in thought as he suggested slowly, the idea forming as he spoke, "If someone could get on board and overcome whatever guards they've left behind, the ship could be set on fire…that'd stop the raiding at sea and trap these bastards on land, where we can deal with them."

Struck by the idea, Hercules straightened, assessing the risks. Nodding, he looked down at Iolaus. "Good idea…let's do it. I'll get a couple of the soldiers to…."

But, Iolaus shook his head. "No…we can't be sure of their skills, and you need as many as there are here in the village to face the main force. I'll go. As soon as the ship is fired, I'll come back and help you here," he proposed.

Not having any doubt of Iolaus' capacity to succeed in this mission, Hercules nodded readily. "Okay," he replied, clapping Iolaus on the shoulder. "But, hurry back or all the action here will be over and you'll have missed all the fun!"

Grinning, Iolaus shook his head as he turned away, to head away from the village and swim out from an angle that would not be noticed. "Try to save a few for me," he called back over his shoulder. "Wouldn't want you to have *all the *fun!"

Hercules laughed and turned back to watch the pirates come in closer, readying himself for the battle ahead.

* * *

Iolaus swam quickly but silently out to the ship, and around it, to board on the side away from the village, knowing that whoever was left on deck would likely be distracted by the fight on shore. He could hear the clash of arms echoing across the water, the screams and shouts as battle was joined. The soldiers had done their work well, creating barricades with wagons, barrels and timbers nailed hastily together to board up houses and storefronts, to channel the pirates up from the waterfront into the village square. Once they'd charged in, confident of their capacity to destroy the village, the soldiers, led by Hercules, surrounded them and converged onto them, hemming them in while archers took aim from above.

But, the pirates were also seasoned warriors, completely ruthless, bearing arms and torches, which they used to good effect to fight back and create the distraction of fires. Villagers hastened to battle the flames while the soldiers fought off the enemy.

Iolaus clambered silently up the edge of the ship and lightly jumped over the rail onto the deck. Moving soundlessly, he scouted the vessel quickly, sneaking up on the first sailor he encountered near the stern, to tap the man on the shoulder. When he turned, Iolaus ploughed a fist into his face, knocking him out cold and catching him to lay him down silently on the smooth planking. He spotted two others further forward, leaning close together on rail, peering out across the water to the shore and, looking around for any possible weapon, he picked up a handy keg. Tiptoeing lightly up behind them, he brought the barrel down on the back of their heads with a crash, stunning them into unconsciousness.

As they crumpled to the deck, he turned and sprinted to the raised foredeck to take out the man who had to have been left at the tiller. Bending to grab up a belaying pin on the way, he hastened up the steps, but the pirate was waiting for him, having heard the resounding thud of the barrel hitting his comrades' heads. A wicked curved knife in his hand, he was poised, crouched, ready for Iolaus' attack.

Pausing at the top of the steps, Iolaus shook his head. "You could just give up and save yourself a headache," he offered lightly with a grin as he held his own hands wide apart, the belaying pin waggling loosely in his grip.

Eyes narrowed, the pirate growled as he sprang forward, intent upon driving his knife into the sopping wet runt in front of him. Iolaus moved to meet him, then pivoted sideways at the last minute, away from the thrust of the knife, bringing his own weapon down hard on the back of the man's head as he lunged past. As the sailor went down for the count, Iolaus dropped his improvised weapon and dusted his hands lightly together. "Too easy," he murmured as if giving a lesson. "You need to feint a couple of times, get the measure of your opponent, see how he moves…not just rush in blindly. 'Way too confident, my lad."

Looking around, he spotted a coil of rope and the lantern of oil hanging from a post. Scooping up the lantern, he threw it on the rope, soaking it with the oil, the flames licking at it hungrily. Bending, Iolaus gathered up the unconscious sailor and tossed him over the rail, knowing the water would likely revive him before he drowned.

Hastening back down to the main deck, he grabbed another lantern and smashed it against a stack of wooden crates near the mast, creating another small but hot-burning fire. Pausing to toss the two men at the rail overboard, he headed down into the belly of the vessel, and finding a store of oil in the hold, he broke open a barrel and tilted it to flow across the deck. Taking a second keg to the foot of the hatch, he pulled the small flickering lantern from its wall bracket at the foot of the narrow stairway and pitched it back at the flood of oil. Flames whooshed loudly behind him as he dashed up the steep flight, taking two steps at a time.

Back on deck, he loped to the stern to where he'd encountered the first pirate. Soaking the planking, barrels and rope curled near the rail with oil, then overturning the keg so that the remainder of the fuel poured down the steps of the hatch to the inferno below, he tossed the unconscious sailor overboard, then leapt over himself, just as the flames roared up onto the deck, hungrily following the trail of oil up into the air.

The slight wind caught the flames and fed them further, so that in minutes they were licking at the mast and singeing, then igniting the furled sails. Fire was always the dread fear on a ship. Everything was flammable…and once a fire caught hold, there was little that could be done to stop it.

Iolaus grabbed the unconscious man by the collar, turning him over to float face up, and slapped him to revive him. Once he came around but was still dazed and confused, the blond warrior swam off, to check to see if the others he'd thrown into the water had survived. Peering around the stern of the vessel, he saw them floundering about, cursing at having found themselves in the water, unhappier still to smell the smoke and see the flames licking at the rail above.

Iolaus struck out toward shore, but a third of the way there, he turned back, treading water as he called tauntingly at the pirates, "Hey, bozos! Want a little revenge? Catch me if you can!"

Striking out toward shore, he grinned as he heard them scream vengeance at him. He didn't want them sneaking into the village surprising the others by coming up behind them, or hiding out until the soldiers had left town to wreak their fury on the villagers. Uh uh. He wanted them right behind him, so that he could deal with them on shore.

The flames which now engulfed the ship lit his way back to the dock and he hoisted himself up out of the water, turning to face those who were splashing across the harbour, eager to take him on, confident that, outnumbering him, they could kill him. He looked around the area to get his bearings while he waited for them, moving back to give them room to climb up onto the wooden decking of the wharf.

Furious, they came at him in a pack, believing he must have been lucky to have taken them out so easily earlier given that he was too stupid to have run from them when he had the chance…too weak and spineless to kill, to have saved their lives when he could have left them on the burning deck. They held no gratitude in their hearts for the gift of their lives, only an all-consuming desire for revenge.

As they rushed him, Iolaus grabbed up small barrels, one after the other, and rolled them into their midst, throwing them into confusion as they dodged and tripped over the obstacles. Picking up a barge pole, he turned to face them, spinning as two came close, bringing the pole around hard to knock one into the other and sending both of them crashing to the wooden planking. The other two had pulled out long knives as they converged upon him. Tossing away the barge pole as too cumbersome for close combat, he spun, kicking the knife out of one villain's hand as he dodged away from the other thrust, bringing the hard edge of his hand down sharply on his attacker's wrist, stunning him and causing his grip to loosen, the knife falling to the ground.

The first two were untangling themselves and getting to their feet, as the truly massive man he'd kicked came at him. Iolaus leapt up in a fast frontal scissor-kick to his attacker's gut, doubling the man over. Using the pirate's back as a platform, he leapt into the air to lunge, feet forward into the first guy charging up at him from the wharf, clipping him hard with his foot, knocking him out cold. Landing lightly, he spun with a two-handed punch to lay out the second guy, whirling back to face the remaining two. The big one, winded, had managed to straightened, enraged, wanting to tear him apart. The other had shook out his numb hand and then had stooped to regain his knife.

"You guys are suckers for punishment," Iolaus observed with a grin, infuriating them even more. The big guy, who was still wheezing a little from the double kick to his body lunged forward, arms wide, intent upon embracing the smaller man and snapping his spine like a twig. Iolaus jumped to meet him, doing a handflip that let him wrap his ankles around the man's neck. Rolling up his body, the small warrior hammered him hard in the face, then gripping the man's hair, he swiveled up and around his shoulders, bringing both fists down hard on the juncture of his neck and shoulders, stunning him, causing him to stumble and fall to his knees.

Mindful of the armed man behind him, Iolaus rolled forward, off the big man's shoulders, and with his hands on the wooden planking, he kicked back to the big man's head, knocking him senseless, then rolled forward in a somersault, coming back to his feet and whirling to face the last pirate still standing on the dock.

Wary now, made wise by the smaller man's blindingly fast, and unnervingly effective acrobatics, the pirate eased forward, watching for an opportunity to strike out. Shaking his sodden curls out of his eyes, Iolaus backed a step as the man came closer, quickly scanning the area, then turning his gaze back to his opponent's eyes, not on the knife in his hand. There was a loop of piled rope just behind the other man on the edge of the dock. Faking a moment of distraction, Iolaus caught his adversary's intentions by the slight narrowing of his eyes. Rolling under the attack, Iolaus grabbed up the roll of rope and whirled fast to bring it against the pirate's back before he could recover his balance and turn to face his intended victim. The heavy rope crashed hard against him, driving him to his knees, and Iolaus moved in swiftly, bringing clasped fists down on the back of the pirate's neck, driving him unconscious face-first to the planking. When his face thunked heavily into the wood, Iolaus winced in sympathy. "That had to hurt," he mumbled. Definitely a broken nose…and maybe a few broken teeth.

Pulling his knife from his boot, he cut off lengths of the rope and swiftly tied up the four pirates. Then, looping a coil of rope through their bindings, he bound them all to a sturdy mooring post on the edge of the dock. "Have a nice rest!" he called jauntily over his shoulder as he turned to first retrieve his vest, boots and his sword from where he'd stashed them before slipping into the water and then he raced up into the town, where the sounds of battle were dying. He really didn't want to miss all of the main action.

But, alas, it was pretty much over by the time he arrived. The soldiers stationed in the village had been augmented by two score more shortly after the battle was engaged. Skouros had arrived with the soldiers he'd kept in reserve and those who had joined him from neighbouring villages as they'd raced through, following close behind the two heroes after the original message of the impending attack had been received. The pirates who had not been killed outright were being rounded up for imprisonment, and those soldiers and villagers who had been wounded in the battle were being treated by comrades. The fires hastily set by the pirates as a distraction had been doused, leaving a thin haze of acrid smoke hanging over the square as Iolaus loped in.

Spotting Hercules, he skirted small groups of soldiers with their prisoners, and smaller clumps of those being treated for their injuries, to join his buddy. "Aw, you didn't leave any for me," he complained, as he surveyed the busy square. Hercules turned at his voice, and grinned at the sight of his water-logged friend. Casting a quick glimpse into the sky above the buildings, seeing the reflection of the flames from the ship out in the harbour, he clapped Iolaus on the shoulder, "Maybe so…but I can see you won your own little war."

Iolaus laughed as they both turned to see where they might best lend their aid. But, his arm was grabbed in a hard grip and he was hauled around by his contemptuous father. "What happened to you, boy…someone drop you in the water? Good way to avoid getting hurt…hiding out under the dock until real men finished off the enemy."

Iolaus pulled away from his father's grip, opening his mouth to reply when Skouros lashed out with a tight fist to his face. Unprepared, not expecting the assault from someone who was, theoretically at least, on the same side, Iolaus ducked, the blow glancing off the side of his jaw, but he staggered a little to keep from falling, one hand coming up to rub his face.

Furious, Hercules had whipped around at the disparaging voice, and was ready to take Skouros' head off for having punched Iolaus when his buddy grabbed his arm, holding him back. "No, Herc…I'll deal with this," Iolaus said shortly. This was something he knew he had to do himself, though he'd rather have faced a seven-headed hydra.

Skouros had braced himself for Hercules' attack, and was standing with his fists ready. Iolaus turned to face him, and left off rubbing his sore jaw. Standing with his arms at his side, the look in his eyes more sad than belligerent, he castigated his father, his voice hard, uncompromising…and unafraid. "You, sir, are a fool. I've had enough, more than enough, of you and if you keep coming at me, I promise you, I'll take you down."

Skouros roared and came at him, enraged by the insult and the threat, forgetting about the demigod who was glaring at him with naked hatred. Resigned to the inevitable, though sickened by it, Iolaus ducked under his father's wild punch, and came up hard to plant one fist in his assailant's solar plexus and punching the other hard up and under his father's jaw, sending him back, reeling from the blows. Standing his ground, not moving in to finish him off, Iolaus watched as his father shook off the effects. "Will you stop, or are you going to force me to bring you down?" Iolaus demanded, his jaw tight, his eyes narrowed.

When the look in his father's eyes answered his question, he readied for the next attack. When Skouros came at him, he whirled low, spinning with one leg out taut, to knock his father's feet from under him, sending Skouros crashing to the ground. The general rolled, intending to come back up to his feet, but Iolaus brought his fists down on his father's back, just below his neck, sending him flat into the dirt again, stunned. Standing back, Iolaus watched, breathing hard, hating this, hating that his father had forced him to this.

Skouros rolled onto his side, supporting himself on one elbow as he looked up at his son, sneering, "Street tricks…dirty, cowardly street tactics."

"Maybe so," Iolaus replied as calmly as he could. "I'm not as big as you are…and I guess we're both stuck with that. I'll never be like you, thank the gods. So, I've learned how to use my size to fight men a whole lot bigger, better, fitter and more dangerous than you will ever be. I could fight you with a sword, if that would make you happier, but I don't want to kill you."

Skouros shook his head and looked away, his face twisted with disgust for the son he'd loathed for as long as he could remember. "Fancy, brave words," he snarled. "But you weren't here when there was real fighting to do…oh no…you were hiding someplace safe until it was all over. You're a coward…always will be."

Hercules snapped back, livid. "Coward? Iolaus is right, you are a fool. You see that fire in the harbour? That's the pirates' ship. Iolaus swam out alone, took out whatever crew was left on board, and then set it aflame so that none of them could escape to raid other villages, other ships, ever again. You arrogant, stupid, idiot. Your son isn't a coward…he's the best mortal warrior in Greece and you're the only one who doesn't seem to know he's a hero."

Skouros rolled his eyes. "Probably snuck up on them, then left them to burn…" he muttered, pushing himself to his feet.

Wearily, Iolaus shook his head. "No, actually, I tossed them overboard, led them to shore, overpowered them and tied them up, ready to be taken to prison. You'll find them down on the dock."

The look Skouros gave him told him that his father thought he was lying. But, the older man had had enough…he wasn't about to risk being knocked down again, not now that his men had noticed the confrontation and were watching. This time, they didn't intervene. This time, they knew Iolaus wasn't 'scum' who deserved to be punished for having assaulted their general. This time, it was the small warrior they regarded with respect.

Iolaus sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck. Looking back into his father's contemptuous eyes, he shook his head. "There's nothing that I can ever do that'll ever please you. Fine. Hate me because I'm not the tall son you always wanted. Hate me for being different than you are. I learned to live with your hatred and contempt a long time ago. Just do me one favour…leave me alone."

With that, Iolaus turned and pushed past Hercules, heading out of the village.

"Any man would be proud to have a son like him," Hercules said quietly. "Any man, it seems, but you." He sighed as he looked after Iolaus, turning to follow him, saying scathingly before he left, "You're blind, and too stupid to see what's been in front of you all your life. He always loved you, you know, regardless of what you did to him. He probably would have died for you. And, you threw all that away. You missed out on knowing a great kid and an amazing man. I don't know whether to hate you…or pity you." Shaking his head, disgusted, Hercules loped across the square to catch up with his friend.

Skouros watched him go, fingering his medallion unconsciously. Suddenly aware of the silence that had descended upon the square, he looked around, saw his men staring at him, not liking the look in their eyes. "All right, show's over," he growled. "Round up these scum for the prison in Antirion. We're moving out in half an hour."

His second in command gazed at him a moment more, then turned to follow the orders, the signal to the others to finish their work. But, the captain didn't bother with those in the square…he went down to the dock to retrieve the prisoners tied there, taking one of his men with him in case there were more than he could handle on his own.

Skouros might have thought his son had lied, but the seasoned warrior had believed Iolaus…just as he now believed all the stories he'd ever heard about those two heroes. When he found the angry, violent pirates ready to fight for their freedom, he was glad he'd brought back up, and shook his head.

He loved his general, and would follow him anywhere. Skouros was a great warrior, a great leader.

But, he was also a fool.

* * *

When Hercules caught up with Iolaus, he slowed to walk quietly beside his friend as they headed into the dark countryside. After they'd gone about a mile, he said simply, quietly, "I'm sorry."

Iolaus, understanding what Hercules meant, nodded briefly in acknowledgement. "So am I," he replied softly, not having wanted to fight his father, feeling oddly ashamed of having had to beat him into the dirt. "So am I."

But, he lifted his head and squared his shoulders. Not afraid anymore. And, he guessed, that was worth something…but he didn't feel good about it.

* * *

It was about fifteen months later when the messenger caught up with them just as they were about to leave a small village where they'd just defeated a gang of marauding bandits.

"Iolaus!" the soldier called out, recognizing him from Antirion, glad to have caught up before the heroes again disappeared into the countryside.

Turning, startled to see the warrior loping up to them, Iolaus and Hercules paused, waiting for him.

When he reached them, the soldier flashed a salute in respect, then he reached into his belt to draw out a small pouch. "I've been trying to catch up with you for over a month. Captain Andreas asked me to deliver this to you."

When Iolaus took the proffered pouch, the soldier continued quietly. "General Skouros was killed in battle in the final squirmish between Sparta and Argos last month. The captain wanted you to be informed, and to have that back. He'd heard…well, he'd heard about what happened in Thebes a couple of years ago, and he said to tell you that he was sorry, about everything, and he hoped you'd want it back."

Iolaus had frozen at the man's words, staggered to learn his father was dead. He clutched the small pouch, feeling the outline of the medallion within it. Hercules laid a hand on his shoulder, gripping him lightly to convey his regret for what he understood his friend must feeling. Swallowing, Iolaus looked back up at the soldier. "Thank you," he said quietly. "And…thank Captain Andreas for his thoughtfulness in letting me know."

"Sir," the soldier nodded, saluted again, then he turned and headed back the way he'd come.

Iolaus' head dropped as he looked at the pouch, turning it over and over in his hands.

"You all right?" Hercules asked quietly, concern in his eyes and in his voice.

After a moment, Iolaus shook his head tightly, biting his lip and blinking back tears as he turned to continue along the road. Hercules frowned as he looked down, then up to the horizon, wondering if there was anything he could do or say to make this easier for Iolaus. Sighing, he shook his head and silently followed his friend out of the village.

* * *

Iolaus had remained silent for the rest of that day's journey. As evening fell, they branched off from the rutted road to find a place to camp in the forest that ran along side. Not far off, they found a small clearing, enough for their needs, and set up their simple camp, Hercules gathering wood and building the fire while Iolaus set off into the woods, returning less than half an hour later with a pheasant.

They prepared their meal, but neither was particularly hungry. As the night gathered around them, Iolaus fished the pouch from his belt, taking out the medallion, and, after gazing at it for a long moment, he looped it over his head, letting it settle against the skin of his chest.

Watching from across the fire, Hercules shook his head. "How can you want it, Iolaus? Why would you want to wear something that can only remind you of him?"

Chewing on his lip, Iolaus wondered how he could explain it…and sighing, he answered softly, "I want to be reminded of him, Herc…I never want to forget what he…." But, his voice caught, and he had to swallow. Looking away, he struggled with the realization that he needed to talk about his father, needed to talk about how he'd felt about what his father had done to him as a child…why he needed to wear the medallion…needed to remember.

But, his throat spasmed as he thought about actually sharing all that with Hercules…gods, he'd spent his whole life holding it inside, hiding it. Drawing his knees up, he crossed his arms over them and leaned his forehead down on them, warring with his conflicting needs to get it all out, and to hold it all inside.

Hercules watched his friend from the other side of the fire, wishing he knew how to help. Iolaus always tried to bury the things that hurt him most, tried to fight his personal monsters alone…but he was hurting so bad. "Please, Iolaus…let me help…" the demigod murmured. "You don't have to suffer this alone."

Shivering, Iolaus sighed and looked up, not at Hercules but away into the darkness, the flickering firelight reflected on the moisture glistening on his lashes. "Are you sure you want to hear this?" he asked, his voice strangely flat and distant.

Nodding, frowning with concern, Hercules sighed quietly, but with steadfast strength, "Yeah…you've needed to talk about this for a long time, buddy. It's time."

Nodding, Iolaus swallowed as he looked up into the sky, his mind drifting back. "Might take a while," he muttered.

"I'm not going anywhere," Hercules replied quietly.

Taking a breath, Iolaus began, his voice hollow, almost impersonal, as he told the story of his childhood… the story he'd never told anyone before. "He didn't always beat me," he began. "I remember, vaguely, when I was little, he'd hold me on his knee and tell me stories about how I'd be a great warrior someday, like him. But, that I'd need to be strong. I remember he looked at me strangely once…I must'a been maybe four years old…he said, 'Iolaus, the world is a hard, cruel place.' He told me that I could never count on love or other people to be there for me. He said that if anything ever happened to him, he wanted me to be strong, so that I could survive. It was the last time he ever said anything to me that sounded like he cared…it was the last time he ever called me by my name."

Iolaus paused remembering, frowning a little. "I knew he loved me…and I loved him. Worshiped him. He was so big and brave…a hero. Gods, I wanted to be like him so much. But…well, things were tense when he was home. He and Mom never seemed to get along. Usually, he'd just yell at her, but sometimes he'd hit her. I…well, when I was a little kid, I used to suck my thumb, and he really hated that…said it was something only babies did. Once, I don't think I'd turned five yet, when he and Mom were fighting, I got scared and…I didn't even realize it, but I'd started to suck my thumb again. He turned and spotted me… went into a rage. He dragged me into the barn and held my hand tight, my thumb against the post of the stall, and he picked up a hammer and he…smashed my thumb."

Hercules swallowed hard at the image, closing his eyes as he gritted his jaw against the bile in his throat. But, Iolaus' voice just continued, remote, like he was talking about someone else…about something that was…normal. Not horrible. Not sickening.

"I tried not to cry when Mom was splinting my thumb, but…I couldn't help it. It hurt so much. He told me not to cry, told me warriors don't cry. The next time he hit me, it was with his sword, cutting my face. I'd been playing with it, pretending to fight off monsters and barbarians…pretending to be brave, like him. But, he didn't understand, thought I was stupid to blunt the sword against a tree, and hit me with it. Made me sharpen it for hours until my hands were bleeding. But, I knew he was just trying to teach me respect for weapons, that they weren't toys…he wanted me to remember not to be so stupid. I knew he loved me…and that's why he tried so hard to beat sense into my head. So, I'd grow up strong, and smart."

Iolaus swallowed, and sighed. "So, I tried to grow up, to be a man, like he wanted…. He was gone a lot, you know, so I started to do what I could to help my mother…I taught myself how to track game, lay snares…hunt. Before long, I was bringing home most of the food for our table." The hunter smiled a little at that, sadly, remembering the child's pride, the feeling of being needed.

"So, the next time my father came home, I was looking forward to showing him what I could do." Iolaus swallowed, shook his head, as he continued, "I was so excited when he took me hunting…I guess I must have been seven or eight. Gods, I was proud to be with him, to be able to show him how good I'd gotten at tracking and stuff like that. He told me to be quiet while we were tracking the stag, and I tried…I really did. But…I was too excited to pay proper attention, and I stepped on a twig. It snapped just before he could loose his arrow…and the stag bolted away. He called me…stupid and clumsy, and he picked me up, shaking me with fury, throwing me to the ground and stalking off. I would have followed him home, but my knee was twisted and I couldn't stand, let alone walk. I crawled for a while, knowing they'd be worried about me when I didn't come home, but night fell and I was scared. When it started to thunder, and rain, I crawled into a hollow log…but, there was a snake in it and it bit my arm…poisoned me, so that I wasn't able to crawl home the next morning."

Iolaus paused and rubbed his aching forehead, weary. Remembering how his father had shown his 'love'. "He came and found me in the morning. I knew he had to have been worried about me, 'cause he loved me right? All the way home, he kept muttering about how stupid and worthless and clumsy I was…hopeless. Useless. I felt so ashamed and I knew he was right. I was stupid and worthless, dumb… clumsy…."

Hercules flinched…gods, the kid was lucky he'd hadn't died…the kid…Iolaus. Feeling sick, he struggled to comprehend how a man could treat his son so harshly, brutally. Risk his life…leaving him hurt in the forest because he'd missed a shot. Abandon him all night, in a storm…and then blame the child, berate him, for having been hurt. Looking across the fire, he wondered how Iolaus had borne it…how he could have kept believing his parents cared about him when he'd been hurt so badly, over and over. Frowning, he felt an ache in his chest when he realized his friend, any child trapped in such a terrible reality, had had no choice. He'd had to believe they loved him, or he'd have had nothing…nothing but pain.

"I don't know how many times he beat me…and I told myself that I deserved it," Iolaus continued, explaining his life, what he'd thought, how he'd felt. "He was just trying to teach me not to be a crybaby, to think, not be stupid, to learn…not be clumsy, not be worthless. But, no matter how hard I tried, I always screwed up…he was right. I was worthless. I deserved it all. I remember the first time he took the horsewhip to my back… gods, I thought I'd die…hoped I would. But, I didn't. A couple of days later, when I could move again, I remember I met up with you and we went fishing. It was such a hot day, and my back was burning from the sweat in the half-healed cuts. You went swimming to cool off…and you kept at me to come in with you, that I had to be hot, too. Hot? Gods, I was burning up. But, I couldn't… couldn't let you see my back."

Iolaus couldn't look at Hercules. Clenching his jaw, his voice hoarse, he admitted, "I was so afraid you'd find out, you know. You actually liked me…and I didn't know what I'd ever do if you found out how bad I was. You were my best friend, and I was afraid you'd hate me, never want to see me again. Because I was worthless, and stupid, and bad…only, you couldn't seem to tell, too young to know. So, I pretended to be good, and funny. Pretended…that everything was alright."

"Oh gods, Iolaus," Hercules moaned, biting his lip, his own eyes closed against tears that burned in guilt and grief. He'd been too young to realize what had been going on…but, Iolaus had been all alone, to suffer that, to fear so much. So strong, to have hidden it from him. Wiping his eyes, he sniffed, wishing he could turn back time to make it all different…or, at the very least, to have been some comfort. To have been able to tell Iolaus that he wasn't bad, or stupid. He was the smartest kid Herc had ever met, and the bravest… and the funniest. And all that time…he'd been suffering, tortured by his own father. "I'm so sorry," he murmured. "I should have helped you…somehow."

Iolaus looked across the flames at him then, and Hercules' breath caught at the flat, almost indifferent expression, the emptiness in Iolaus' eyes, as he replied, "Don't apologize…it wasn't your fault. You didn't know. How could you…how could you even imagine…? Don't you see, I was bad…I even lied to you, my best friend, too much a coward to tell you the truth…."

Hercules had to bite his lip to keep from protesting against that assessment. But, he knew if he distracted Iolaus, his buddy might never get it all out. So, he gritted his teeth, forcing back the words, and listened, his fingers curling into fists with anger at what his friend had suffered.

Looking away, holding tight to his control, keeping it all as distant as he could, Iolaus continued the bleak, wretched story. "I figured finally that what I needed to do was prove to my Dad that I could take care of myself. That I could fight anybody and win. I thought he'd respect me then, that I wouldn't be such a disappointment. That he wouldn't be ashamed of me. So, I fought everybody…started fights, joined in other people's fights…didn't care if I got beat up. The important thing was to learn how to stand it, to keep coming back for more until I wore them out…until I learned how to beat them up first."

Again looking back across the fire at his friend, his gaze distant, Iolaus remembered, "I knew I was scaring you, and I was sorry about that. But, you see…I had to do those things. I had to teach myself how to be a warrior, for my father. So, he'd be proud of me. Because, I knew I was hurting him by being such a worthless runt…he loved me and couldn't stand to see what I was. I could see you didn't like me much anymore, and that hurt, but…I couldn't stop."

Looking away, frowning a little then, Iolaus recalled, "Then, one day, I got my chance to prove to my Dad how good a warrior I'd become. You remember…you were there when they came up the lane and I told you to go home. I thought you had. He'd brought my cousin, Thius, home. Thius was older, tall…the sort of kid my father wished was his son. He told me what a great little warrior Thius was, how he'd brought honour to the family name and how proud he was of my cousin. Somehow we got into a fight…I can't remember now if I started it or if my father goaded me into it. Doesn't matter. I was eager to show him what I could do. I knew I could take Thius with no trouble and finally, finally, Dad would respect me…and show me that he really did love me. And, I did…I beat him. But," for the first time, Iolaus' voice cracked.

"But…my father hated me for it. He…he kept hitting me across the face and then punched me to the ground. I think I hit my head on a rock, stunned. He kicked me in the ribs, again, and again. And, I asked him...why? I'd fought like a warrior. I'd won. Wasn't he proud of me? But, he told me I'd used dirty tricks, like a girl, or the village idiot…nothing an honourable warrior would ever do. He'd told me he'd never been so disgusted with me in his life…that he should have drowned me the night I was born, such a small, worthless runt. He walked away and left me lying there in the dirt, and I knew then that he didn't love me, that he'd never love me. I'd never be good enough…and, then, you were there. And, I knew you'd seen…heard…and I just wanted to die."

Iolaus stopped talking, shaking his head, feeling exhausted…wondering if saying all this out loud had been a mistake. Hercules felt utterly sick, as he murmured, "I did see it…you fought brilliantly. I could never believe how much you'd taught yourself about combat skills, all the moves…the strength to take the blows and keep coming back. I was so proud of you for your victory over the little prig. But…when your father blew up, I was frozen…shocked…couldn't believe it. I should have helped you, but…it was over so fast. I'd never seen anything so violent…brutal. And, what he said to you…I couldn't believe it. I hated him…and I was scared. After he left and I went to help you…and you passed out…gods, Iolaus, I was so scared he'd killed you."

Wearily, Iolaus nodded and shrugged. "You and your mother probably saved my life that day. I guess you know the rest of it, pretty much. The last time I saw him in those days, he…well, he…I was pretty sure he really was going to kill me if he got his hands on me again. So, I ran…and hit the streets. Became a thief. Would've become worse, probably, if your mother hadn't gotten the magistrate to send me to the Academy, to study with you." As candid as he'd been, Iolaus still held some of it back…held back the fact that Skouros had threatened to hurt Alcmene if he ever went back to their house, ever again sought refuge there. He'd been totally alone then, nowhere to go, except the streets. But, he didn't want Hercules, or his mother, to ever know that. They'd just feel bad, and it wasn't their fault.

"When we heard he'd been killed…I didn't know whether to be glad or sick. It was over. He'd never beat me again. But…I knew that I'd never have the chance to prove to him…to make him proud of me. To win his love and respect. I…" he paused and swallowed, "I still loved him…had never stopped loving him. He was my father…but, I knew he'd died still ashamed of me, hating me."

"And, then he showed up again, in Thebes…" Hercules reflected.

"Yeah," Iolaus stated bleakly. "And, still, nothing I did was good enough…would ever be good enough. All the old insults…crybaby, worthless, runt…." Straightening, rubbing his hand over his face as if coming out of a kind of trance, shaking it off, he looked up at Hercules. "You helped me see what he was…a bully. Helped me get the perspective to stand up to him…to fight him, and win, the next time he took me on. I'm grateful for that Hercules. It was hard…and it hurt. Felt indecent somehow. But, at least I wasn't afraid of him anymore."

Hercules just sighed and shook his head. He'd had some idea that it had been bad, but he'd never, ever have imagined how long the abuse had been going on, or how brutal Skouros had been for so many years.

"And, now, he really is dead," Iolaus said softly, fingering the medallion.

Frowning, Hercules reflected quietly, "You still haven't explained how you can bear to wear that thing."

Looking up at him, across the flames, his best friend replied, "I want to remember what he was like, what he did to me…so that I'll never be like him. Never cruel, or brutal. Never a bully, using my strength and skill against someone helpless, weaker than I am. I want to remember how he treated me, so that I'll remember, if I ever have a son, to tell him all the time how much I love him. How proud I am of him, how good he is, how lucky I am…to be…his father…."

Iolaus' voice broke then, and tears flooded his eyes, all the tears he'd held back for so long. He shuddered with the pain of it as he bit his lip, moaning a little unconsciously with the agony of it all, trying desperately not to cry. In a heartbeat, Hercules was up and around the fire, falling to one knee beside his friend, pulling him into a tight hug, his own heart breaking at the grief and sorrow that Iolaus was feeling. Wishing he could make it go away… Skouros didn't deserve the love…didn't deserve to be mourned, didn't deserve a son like Iolaus.

"He's dead, Herc…" Iolaus sniffed, a tear spilling onto his cheek. "He's dead, and he'll never love me… he'll never be anything but ashamed of me…his worthless, stupid, runt of a son." A sob broke free then, much to his shame.

"Stop it," Hercules said, his own voice thick with emotion. "Stop it…don't call yourself those things. They aren't true…weren't ever true. He was wrong, and sick…and blind. I'm sorry, Iolaus…gods, I'm so sorry you had to suffer all that, believe all those terrible lies. But, please, don't ever, ever judge yourself by his ignorance and cruelty. You were a great kid…and you're an incredible man. How you ever survived all that…without becoming mean and vicious is a tribute to your spirit, your strength…your innate decency. You are a hero, Iolaus…you have nothing to prove to anyone, least of all him."

Hauling in a shuddering breath, striving for control, Iolaus tried to pull away, but his friend wouldn't release him. "Don't, Herc…please…I can't…."

"Let it out, Iolaus…it's not wrong to hurt, not wrong to cry…gods, he tortured you, physically and mentally for your whole life. He was the monster…the coward, the worthless, clumsy fool…not you. Not ever you."

The trembling of tight muscles held too long in check, the release of emotions too long buried, his control too fragile with his loss and pain, Hercules' words pushed him over the edge, and he cried from the depths of his battered heart and sorely wounded soul. The demigod held him, tears on his own face as he bent his cheek to rest on Iolaus' hair, holding him as a loving father might hold a child shattered by unbearable horror. Held him until there were no more tears left to be cried, no more sobs to be choked back. And, still he held Iolaus, murmuring, "It's alright…you're going to be alright. He can't hurt you anymore."

Finally, Iolaus drew back, and wiped his hands over his face, brushing away the last of the tears. Sniffing, he rubbed his pounding head, tired beyond words. One hand still gripping his shoulder, Hercules gazed at him, seeing the gray lines of exhaustion. "You need to sleep, Iolaus…you need to rest."

Iolaus nodded as Hercules stepped up and back, moving again to his side of the fire. Laying down, curling onto his side, Iolaus murmured quietly, "Thanks, Herc…thanks for always being there for me. I'd never have made it this far without you."

"Anytime, buddy," Hercules replied softly. "Always…I will always be here for you." Pausing a moment, he decided to say it out loud for once, decided Iolaus needed to hear the words. "I love you…and I've always been proud of you."

The blond hunter heaved in a sobbing breath at that, and felt his eyes burn again. "I love you, too, Herc," he whispered, then closed his eyes, unable to fight off the emotional exhaustion any longer.

Hercules watched him sleep for a long time, thinking about all Iolaus had finally shared with him. Looking up into the night sky, he whispered hoarsely, "I hate you, Skouros…I hope you burn in Tartarus for all eternity."

* * *

The next morning, Iolaus felt awkward, but Hercules wouldn't let the silence continue. "Thank you," he said, "for trusting me enough to let it out. You needed to talk about it…and I'm glad I was here to listen."

Shaking his head, his face turned away, Iolaus replied, "No…don't…." Sighing, he looked around and up at his friend. "I need to thank you, for listening…for making me get it out. It was like lancing a poisonous wound…draining all the foul crap away. I didn't know how much I needed to…let go."

Hercules nodded a little at that, his face kind and sad. "Will you be all right?"

"Yeah," Iolaus nodded, as he thought about it all. Then, he nodded again with more conviction. "Yeah… I'll be fine." As he bent to pick up his pack and sling it over his shoulder, he said quietly, thoughtfully, "I guess, in some ways, he made me the man I am…a tracker and hunter, a warrior, a man who can stand any amount of pain and keep going…but…for as long as I live, I'll never understand him…as long as I live, I don't think I'll ever be able to really forgive him for what he did to that little kid."

"You taught yourself those things, Iolaus…the only thing he tried to teach was what he saw himself…that the world is a cold and cruel place, where no one can be trusted, or relied upon…where you're on your own," Hercules replied, his voice tight. "Thank the gods, you didn't learn those lessons, despite how hard he tried to beat them into you."

Iolaus shook his head and looked up to gaze a moment at his best friend. "'Thank the gods?'" he repeated, then smiled. "No… thank you and Alcmene, Herc. It was the two of you who showed me a different, better, world….that there are good people, people who care and who won't ever let you down. People who know how to love, who love you whether you deserve it or not. I survived his 'lessons' because of the two of you…no matter how bad it got, I always knew I had the two of you."

Hercules gazed back at his friend, saw the gratitude in his eyes and looked away, glad if he and his mother had helped in some small way, sorry they hadn't been able to save him from all of it. "And, you always will," he said quietly, looking back at his friend, a smile on his lips…a promise in his eyes.

Nodding again tightly, swallowing, Iolaus turned away to kick out the ashes of the fire, and then he led the way back to the road.

* * *

Epilogue:

Nor did he forgive his father, not for as long as he lived. The deep wounds in Iolaus' heart healed, but they left ragged scars. Until, one day, years later, Hercules and Iolaus crested the hill overlooking Thebes, just in time to see Hera's eyes darken the sky, and to witness lightning striking the town, erupting into flames which engulfed the wooden settlement.

Later that day, after they'd put the fire out, Hercules had gone ahead to kneel at the graves of his family. Alone, racing to warn Herc of a new and deadly danger, Iolaus had encountered the Fire Enforcer, and was brutally beaten by her when he refused to tell her where to find Hercules. Beaten so badly, that after he'd staggered for miles to finally find his best friend by the water's edge, after he'd painfully gasped out the warning about Hera's new enforcer, he'd died in Herc's arms.

That day, he once again met his father, for the last time…in the Asphodel Meadows.

Iolaus had died a warrior, and somehow, by doing so, he'd finally won his father's grudging respect.

While he waited for Hercules to save him from eternal death, Iolaus came to see not a monster, but a man. Imperfect, sure. Flawed. But, still, just a man.

And, Iolaus found it in himself to forgive the man.

His forgiveness freed his father's soul, lifted the burden of a lifetime of sins, and enabled, at long last, a reconciliation…his father even apologized to him for what he'd done. So, after years of purgatory in the Meadows, Hades allowed Skouros to pass into the Elysium Fields, to spend eternity as the hero he had also been during his troubled life.

In forgiving his father, Iolaus also found himself finally free of the hurt. The old wounds had healed but had left ugly scars…and, now, those scars, too, could fade away.

The sins of the father had been forgiven by a son whose own heart could never hold hate…because it had always, only, ever held love.

Finis


End file.
